


Pop Culture

by MahoganyDoodles



Series: Pop Culture [1]
Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: F/M, Falling In Love, Fluff, Humor, Sex, Toot toot all aboard the crackfic train, Vegeta is TOTALLY a virgin he's just pretending he knows what he's doing, when really he's just head over heels for Bulma and refuses to admit it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-29
Updated: 2019-12-29
Packaged: 2020-05-30 19:13:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 20,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19409635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MahoganyDoodles/pseuds/MahoganyDoodles
Summary: Vegeta isn’t human. And Bulma knows this, so she understands when he doesn’t pick up on Earth culture.But sometimes what he doesn’t understand is just utterly hilarious.Or, drabbles of Bulma teaching Vegeta pop culture, and some of it he really wishes he didn’t know.





	1. 100% That Bitch

Vegeta isn’t human. And Bulma knows this, so she understands when he doesn’t pick up on Earth culture. She’s not surprised when he dismisses the idea of sovereign countries sharing one planet. She gets it when he asks, completely serious, how a Texan presidential candidate can be a serial killer active in the years before he was even born, because honestly she doesn’t know how some humans who’ve been on Earth their whole lives can genuinely believe such a ridiculous meme, but also _it’s 2019_ _where did he even find that?_ She can almost see the gears turning in his head to figure out if there was a way to make infiltration babies even stronger and it is _terrifying_.

But sometimes what he doesn’t understand is just utterly fucking  _ hilarious. _

“What does, ‘just took a DNA test, turns out I’m 100% that bitch’ mean?”

Bulma chokes, her drink spewing out her nose as she tries to hold back laughter. She’s sure she’s going to have soda in her sinuses for  _ days. _

For all her adventures since she’d met Goku, she’d never have imagined one day they’d culminate in an alien beefcake quoting Lizzo to her over leftover pizza.

Vegeta frowns at her, wiping the spittle off her newest prototype armor he’d been testing. “What is the matter with you, woman? My question was quite clear.” She can almost feel the intensity of his scowl from across the table of the Capsule Corp kitchen.

Her shoulders are shaking, trying to hold in paroxysms of laughter.  _ Don’t crack up, don’t give in, he’s starting to trust you. His pride is easily injured. He’s not human, he’s barely been here a year, he can’t help what he doesn’t know. _ But she can’t resist, she has to hear him say that sentence again. 

“I’m sorry, could you repeat that?”

His scowl deepens, brow furrowing. “I  _ said, _ what does ‘just took a DNA test, turns out I’m 100% that bitch’ mean?” He smirks, “Or moreover, what is a DNA test, and how much of a bitch would it show you to be?” 

“EXCUSE ME?”

“You heard me. Your incessant need to blast that song on repeat in your lab so loud I can hear it in the gravity chamber has caused it to echo in my head, and now I demand to know the meaning of it.”

Her eyes snap to his, teeth clenching as she returns his glare.  _ Oh, this is going to be good. _ “First off, it’s called Truth Hurts, and it is an  _ anthem, _ ” she swallows, settling back in her seat. “So, remember how Earth has different countries, and those countries are in larger landmasses called continents?” He inclines his head a fraction. “People from similar places have similar genetic markers. So, a DNA test can tell you where someone’s ancestors are from. They’re not perfect, but they’re an indicator of who you’re descended from. As for telling if you’re a bitch,” she sets her crust on her plate as she pushes to her feet, rounding on him, “there are different types of bitches. My DNA test would undoubtedly come up as a boss bitch, whereas yours,” she takes a step closer, prodding her finger  _ sharply _ into his chest, “would show up as a little bitch.”

_ Got ‘em. _ His eyes narrow as his hand shoots up, fingers wrapping around her wrist. He hasn’t gotten  _ quite _ a grip on all the different nuances the term bitch can carry, but he knows enough from her tone to assume he’s being put on the same level as Kakarot’s intelligence, or something equally pathetic. 

“Oh really?” He inclines his head, dark eyes trained on blue. He inches closer, breath ghosting over her lips as he whispers, “Is that what I am to you?” 

_ Cheater. _ She can’t find the energy or will to move, overwhelmed by the pure masculinity  _ right _ in her personal space. His hand comes up to press against the wall by her head, the quick movement breaking the spell. She shakes her head to clear him from her mind, slipping out of his reach. This is the game they play.

He blinks. He clearly didn’t expect her to power through. Fire blazes in his eyes as they track her every movement as she pivots to face him.

“Any other questions?” she asks, batting her blue lashes, voice dripping sugar.

“Tch.” He straightens up and flexes slightly, determined to get back on the offensive. “Yes. What is a Minnesota Viking? I thought they were an ancient class of warrior that ravaged villages and took what they want. If there are still some of these warriors alive, I would like to meet them.”

She almost chokes again. These are the lyrics he’s chosen to focus on? He wasn’t lying about having the song stuck in his head. She can’t wait for him to ask about a particularly dirty euphemism. His prudish sensibilities will be frazzled for  _ weeks. _

“There’s this thing in America called football—”

“Isn’t that the black and white ball the Weakling is constantly playing with in a pitiful attempt to impress you?”

“No, different sport. American football doesn’t involve using your feet at all. Don’t ask why, no one gets it. American football is this sport where men tackle each other to, uh… secure victory for their team. And then they broadcast the competition on TV. Actually, since it's a Sunday afternoon, it should be on right now.”

She turns to leave, him trailing behind her out the kitchen and down the hall.

“And the Minnesota Vikings are one of these teams?”

“Yes. The Vikings is the name of the team, and Minnesota is the state that they… compete for honor for.” She pads through the living room doorway, swiping the remote off the table. The TV hums to life and the cushion sinks next to her as he settles himself on the couch. The channels flash across the screen, Vegeta watching with disinterest beside her until she finds what she’s looking for. 

His eyes widen. It’s chaos, a huddle of men shoving against each other as the players sprint away, searching for an opening. The quarterback spots one but overshoots. A receiver jumps to catch the pass, only to be tackled midair over the sidelines. Vegeta’s mouth drops open as the stumbling players crash into a referee. 

His expression is probably the most entertaining thing she’s seen all day. Bulma doesn’t think he’s blinked since the play started, and she is  _ delighted _ to have finally found something to stop him from breaking the gravity room bots every five minutes and get him out of her hair. 

And if she’s being honest, like,  _ really _ honest, he’s kinda cute when he’s so captivated.

“I approve of America. They are brutal and competitive, more Saiyan than any other group of humans.” His eyes are glued to the screen watching three defenders tackle Tom Brady at once. He snorts. “This is a noble sport. Perhaps I will not destroy the Earth yet.” 

Bulma grins. “Oh, just you wait for me to introduce you to WWE.” 


	2. AND HIS NAME IS JOHN CENA

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Profound liberties taken with the WWE.

After seeing how well Vegeta’s foray into contemporary R&B had turned out—and the following football fixation—Bulma had been itching to introduce Vegeta to more Earth culture. As far as she was concerned, she couldn’t have been handed a more perfect opportunity to push his buttons if it had come on a silver platter. 

And she’d figured out the gravity room was the perfect way in. A little rewiring of a few panels, and she’d seized complete control of the sound systems. The sound systems she kept on full volume constantly while he trained, no matter how many speakers he destroyed. The sound systems that played Never Gonna Give You Up on an endless loop.

Yup.

And yet, he hadn’t mentioned a peep about it to her. And she’d essentially live-action rickrolled him for  _ weeks. _ Every time she’d questioned him on the subject he just played dumb. In fact, he seemed determined to  _ like _ the song just to spite her.

So that hadn’t worked. 

Instead, she’d moved on to creating a playlist for him to train to. It had been simple enough, a mix of songs that were Explicitly Dirty™, and softer songs with more innocuous phrasing that were the truly filthy. He knew enough to avoid asking the meaning of My Humps, but he would be caught entirely off guard when he would, inevitably, ask what was so great about the Summer of 69. She’d laid the perfect bait.

And yet, so far nothing had happened. 

In fact, since the Super Bowl nearly two months ago, Bulma hadn’t seen Vegeta for more than five minutes at a time; he still came once or twice a day to berate her about her subpar bots in the gravity simulator, but he never lingered for more than a few cutting insults.

And to be honest, she was starting to get worried.

When the Patriots had first won, Vegeta hadn’t eaten for two days. Which had gotten her  _ really _ worried—what was she supposed to do with him? Call an emergency vet for an opinion? Was that a thing? She could just imagine how that’d go, “Hey, so my part monkey housemate’s been pitching a glorified temper tantrum–”

So, she’d been relieved when he’d hauled himself out of his slump and struck up a new, nearly nonstop training regime.

Nonstop, except for the hour-long rants. 

She’d already had most of his catchphrases memorized: the “Prince of All Saiyans” wasn’t very creative after all, but now she could recite entire speeches. For a  _ week _ following Tom Brady’s sixth Superbowl ring, Vegeta had not shut up about that “third class upstart who wouldn’t know good training if it hit him” and how Tien had  _ dared _ to call Tom Brady a better quarterback than Peyton Manning.

“Peyton Manning was BORN to be a legendary quarterback and to ascend to the Hall of Fame. How dare they equate Brady’s cheating ways with the greatest quarterback of all time! Manning hails from a noble football family. Well, except for his younger brother Eli, who was a bit of a disappointment and should have been banished from the sport once they realized he couldn’t bring their royal family honor…”

“Projecting much?” Bulma had snarked. Although Vegeta had never mentioned anything outright, he had discussed banished younger brothers often enough that she had grown suspicious.

“And he keeps talking about veganism! I mean, what being in their right mind could possibly find a pile of leaves—

“To be an acceptable alternative to real protein, blah blah blah, yeah. I know. This is only the fifth time you’ve said as much today. You’re fixated again.”

So she was worried. For Tom Brady’s safety, that is.

Bulma drummed her fingers against the table. She’d liked when their conversations had involved more than the two topics of 1) her “inferior” bots or 2) Tom Brady’s “inferior” career. At this point, she’d settle for 3) Kakarot’s “inferior” fighting techniques. Vegeta hadn’t lambasted Goku in at least two weeks, which had to be a new record.

He needed something new to shift his attention to. Something that, preferably, wouldn’t end up with either her or her friends getting Galick Gunned. She marched to the gravity room and opened the door, abruptly restoring the gravity to normal.

Her head jerked up as she heard a loud crash above her, Vegeta now plastered to the ceiling of the gravity chamber until his body collapsed to the floor with a low groan. 

He lifted his head from the ground panting, eyes locked on hers. 

“Woman! The force required to stay airborne in 150G is significant. So when you shut the gravity off without providing me time to react, the sudden reduction in weight causes me to SHOOT. UPWARDS.” He pushed to his feet, arching his back, vertebrae cracking in quick succession. “For someone who so regularly professes to be a genius, you would have thought this was common sense!” His voice was cut off by the sudden blare of trumpets over the speakers.

“And _ why _ is this blasted song repeated every third track on this infernal racket you insist on abusing my ears with while I train to defend YOUR worthless planet?”

_ Your time is up, my time is now. You can’t see me, my time is now. _

A grin spread across Bulma’s face. It seemed she had found just the distraction Vegeta needed. “It’s the victory song for a world champion earth fighter named John Cena. Remember how I told you I was going to introduce you to WWE a while ago?” She whipped out her phone, fingers furiously tapping to find the YouTube video she was searching for.

“Yes, you mean last chapter?”

Bulma pressed her phone into Vegeta’s hands, the twin songs clashing as a John Cena smackdown video started in the background. “Well, Now is the Time.”   
  


* * *

  
  
“Wow Bulma, I can’t believe you got us tickets to the WrestleMania Royal Rumble match so last minute! These tickets have been sold out for WEEKS!” Krillin bounced from side to side by her elbow. “I just wish Goku could have come with us. I should have known — Chi-Chi hates him spending time fighting for the Earth as it is, there was no way she was going to let him spend time watching other people fight.” Krillin sighed, head slumping on his hand as he stared out the window of the plane.

“Aww, Krillin, I’m sure we’ll get him to come next time. We just won’t tell Chi-Chi what it’s for. And anyways, it’s no big deal about the tickets. I have my ways.” She flashed Krillin a grin.   
  
Vegeta snorted in the backseat. “Hmph. Whatever ridiculous Earth activity you’re forcing me to attend would be even more unbearable with Kakarot’s presence. I’m glad the harpy intervened.”

“Hey! I don’t  _ have _ to take you to this, so don’t make me turn this plane around!” Her finger wagged close enough to his face to boop his nose as she pulled back. “And ridiculous Earth activity my ass, ever since you watched John Cena’s first world championship match, your YouTube search history has been nothing but more of his wins.” She harrumphed. “Honestly, I’m surprised they can’t see your raging hard-on from space.”

“You.. you.. vulgar woman!” 

* * *

After Vegeta sufficiently calmed down, the trio slipped into a back entrance, emerging into the house’s prime seats just behind the announcers’ table. 

The rowdy crowd shrieked and screamed and the air was alight with primal energy. Vegeta’s eyes glowed with the same light they had when he had first discovered the delights of contact sports as his eyes swept across the room. “It reminds me of Vegeta-sei, with all the crowd screaming for a fight,” he murmured. “It feels… like home.” 

This kind of atmosphere normally unsettled Bulma; usually it was a sure-fire way to find herself harassed by some asshole who couldn’t take a hint. But with Vegeta standing at her side, she could see for the first time the beauty of battle he so often described. The thrill of the clash. The spark of determination. The energy was taut as a wire, the very air vibrating with anticipation.

And so the day flew by, fighter after fighter emerging from the sidelines to challenge their opponents and claim the honor they were due. Vegeta pestered Bulma nonstop about the context of what was happening, beyond absorbed in the past rivalries and friendships that carried the storyline. And Bulma was a veritable encyclopedia of wrestling knowledge, spitting out answers immediately after his question was asked, weaving increasingly complicated backstories and caveats to every interaction they saw. With every query she answered, Krillin’s eyes narrowed a little more each time he glanced at her.

They’re deep into the matches, a tag-team just exiting the ring when Krillin turned his head, pretending to scan the crowd behind them as he tilted his head closer to hers. “Bulma… do you know anything about WWE?”

Her lips didn’t move as she whispered back “Not a fucking thing.”

And with that, the next match was on. Drew McIntyre vs Roman Reigns. A rivalry come to a head. It’s clear this is a big one—WWE owner Vince McMahon has made an appearance, hovering just outside the ring, stare unwavering. McIntyre entered the ring first, jeering as Reigns slipped through the ropes. He circled his opponent, reigning verbal abuse on the wrestler.

“I will hurt you. I will maim you. I will destroy you. Haven’t you put your family through enough? They already had to watch Daddy fight for his life. You should have just stayed away! I’m gonna beat you worse than your leukemia ever did.” McIntyre snarled, slinking past just out of reach of Reigns.

Vegeta leaned into her. “This fighter, he was ill but returned to the competition once he recovered?” Well. Fuck if she knew. But she’s going to use context clues and assume the answer is yes, and so nodded to Vegeta. “The greatest battle he had was against his own body, but he overcame and returned for the glory of the competition.” He inclined his head in approval. “He is a fine warrior.”

Bulma bit her tongue before she could argue that it was probably more likely that he desperately needed the health insurance, even the shitty-ass kind provided by the WWE. Saiyans weren’t really cognizant of the socioeconomic rationales driving the behavior of the average human.

One insult too many from McIntyre, and the two men are on each other. It’s a long and bloody battle. The two fighters are very nearly evenly matched, each receiving as many hits as they deliver. 

Fifteen minutes in, Reigns is sent crashing to the floor from a kick to the gut, weak from the lengthy battle. McIntyre advanced on him, a sneer curling his lip. 

At the last second, Reigns launched himself into the ropes, rebounding directly into McIntyre and tackling him to the floor with the last of his strength. McIntyre writhed and struggled to get away, but Reigns never let up. The referee smacked the floor three times and McIntyre’s body went limp, accepting his defeat.

Roman Reigns got to his feet, arms lifted in victory as he faced the crowd, back turned while a metal folding chair is slipped into McIntyre’s hands by McMahon himself. The cheers turned to screams and Reigns swiveled, placing his head directly into the path of the oncoming chair. 

Vegeta is on his feet in an instant, shouting in outrage. “That runt! He bows out rather than take a beating like a true fighter, and then he has the nerve to cheat?” Bulma’s arms wrap around his waist, desperately trying to drag him back into his seat to no avail.

McIntyre resumed Reigns’ victory lap, waving to the disgusted crowd. The referee grabbed him from behind to drag him out of the ring, only for McIntyre to slam the chair down over his head as well. He turned back to the crowd, arms pumping the air in victory. 

In his celebration, he didn’t notice Reigns struggle upright. Reigns tapped his opponent on the shoulder, immediately delivering an uppercut to the jaw when McIntyre twisted to face him. The thud of McIntyre’s body hitting the mat couldn’t be heard over the sudden roar of the crowd, the whole building screaming the rightful victor’s name. And no one is more vocal that Vegeta, his guttural cry piercing through the din.

The ring cleared as the wrestlers regrouped for the next match.

Vegeta plopped back in his seat, arms crossing. “Feh. Even attacked by a coward who has admitted defeat, he still emerges victorious.” Bulma rolled her eyes at the feigned disinterest, as if he hadn’t just been howling Reigns’ name just seconds ago.

She let out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding. “Well, after that excitement, I’m famished. You guys wanna get something to eat?”

As if she had to ask.

Moments later, they’re standing in line while Bulma is exasperatedly trying to explain that,  _ yes, _ she did really want to order 30 hot dogs, 10 orders of nachos, and 7 orders of hot wings. And even that might not be enough.

She looked over her shoulder and a display caught her eye.

“AND one collectible cup. With Sprite.”

Tray after tray laden with food are placed on the table where Krillin and Vegeta wait, the two inhaling the contents of each before she can even make it back with the next. Ten trays in, and the pair finally start to slow down enough for Bulma to press the Sprite into Vegeta’s hands.

His eyes widened as he looked at the design on the outside. “Is this…?”

“A John Cena collectible mug? Yup. With Sprite. I thought you might like it.”

Vegeta took a tentative sip from the straw, face contorting as he immediately spit the drink out. “Blegh! How did you earthlings make water _ spicy _ !?”

“What? You mean the Prince of All Saiyans can’t even handle a little carbonation?”

“Water is for hydration, not burning your taste buds off.” Vegeta dumped the drink out onto Krillin’s plate, ignoring Krillin’s sputters of indignation as he turned the cup over in his hands, his brow furrowing as he admired the John Cena decals on the outside. “Why did these fighters not show up on my scouter when I first arrived on Earth? They would have posed far more of a challenge than any of your pathetic D Flighters.” Bulma let out an exasperated sigh—if she rolled her eyes at any more of his bullshit than she already had today, she was going to pull a muscle. It seemed Vegeta’s claims he had mastered the art of sensing ki were utterly unfounded, but his grudge against the Z Fighters was going as strong as ever.

“Actually-“ Krillin began to butt in, still attempting to sop up the remaining soda with a mountain of napkins.

Bulma cut him off, “-it must have been because they were so far away from the spot where you landed. They are absolutely talented warriors.”

“Hmph.” Vegeta turned back to focusing on the novelty cup, turning it over in his hands like a precious gift. 

The remaining fights flew by, until it was finally time for the main event, the one they had all come for. Rhonda Roussey and Becky Lynch pummel each other into the mat, and all Bulma can think about is how those are some _ freaky _ acrobatics when a cough dragged her from her reverie.

Vegeta is giving her major side eye and  _ oh no, she does not like the look of that, _ when he cleared his throat again and asked, “Woman… have you ever considered participating in one of these matches?”

She shifted her body to face him, eyes narrowed. “And why would you ask that?" she asked, voice clouded with suspicion.

“No reason.” He pulled at his collar, face flushing red. 

And with that Becky Lynch delivered the winning blow, and was named the Raw Women’s Champion.

When the cheering finally calmed down, Bulma and Krillin started to trudge toward the backstage exit they had entered through. Vegeta trailed after them, still starstruck by the women’s match, rambling about the various moves and the damage they had done. He’s gesticulating wildly, heaping praise on the wrestlers. 

“Pulling hair to unbalance her opponent was genius. Lynch was wise to keep her hair tucked in a bun to avoid having the same tactic used on her, particularly since her orange hair draws so much attention as it’s almost as vibrant as yours.”

Krillin’s nose smashed into Bulma’s lower spine as she froze in shock. Was that… almost a compliment? From Vegeta?

She’s still frozen, Krillin howling in pain behind her when yet another person crashed into her, this time from the front. 

Solid hands steady her when she nearly toppled over, and she lifted her eyes to meet Roman Reigns’. He broke into a grin. “Well, I wasn’t expecting to find someone like you here. Sneaking backstage to try to get a chance with me?”   


Her jaw is twitching as she tries to remain silent, but internally she’s screaming and gnashing her teeth. She had come  _ so close _ to escaping today without this exact type of situation. “Uh, no actually. We were just on our way to meet a friend.” Bulma attempted to extricate herself from his grasp, but his grip didn’t shift at all. 

“Oh, I’m sure we can get real friendly real fast.” His teeth glinted. “In fact, my dressing room is right over—” he’s caught off guard by five feet of angry Saiyan (and six inches of angry Saiyan hair) right in his face.

“The woman isn’t interested.” Vegeta practically snarled through clenched teeth.

Reigns glowered at him. “I don’t recall asking you.”

Vegeta’s fists seized the front of his shirt, jerking him away from Bulma. “For all you earthlings posture about heroism, this is just more proof you’re all the same animals, just wearing different masks.”

Reigns had barely raised his fist when he goes flying directly into the announcers’ table, the wood turned to splinters under the force of the throw.

“He’s even weaker than the Weakling himself! Feh.” Vegeta is already storming towards the table to finish the job. “For someone who fought with such honor in battle, he was pathetically easy to defeat.” Bulma chased after him, finally managing to grasp his shoulder.

“Aww. Honestly, it’s kind of sweet that you defended me, even if it was in a Neanderthal way.” 

“Tch. I didn’t do it for you, woman. That  _ child  _ disrespected the Prince of All Saiyans by pursuing one of my entourage. I wasn’t defending you. I was defending my honor. You're  _ mine. _” 

“Yeah, yeah, honor, schmoner. And hold your horses hotshot, I’ve still got a surprise for you yet. C’mon.”

They turned to continue walking toward the backstage and immediately collided with the very wrestler she had been looking for. She’s not sure what surprise Vegeta thought she had, but it’s clear meeting John Cena was unexpected.

“Bulma! I’ve been looking all over for you! I’m so happy you were able to make it. You haven’t been here since the last time Yam-”   
  
Bulma cut him off with a strangling hug. “Yup! Actually not with Yamcha anymore. Dumped him after I caught him cheating on me, again. Great end to our relationship! But anyways, I wanted you to meet—” She nearly stumbled as Vegeta shoves past her, hands still clutched around his collectible cup. “You’re John Cena! You’ve won sixteen world titles!”

“Errr, yes?” There’s a buzz of activity behind them, and Bulma turned to see security assembling around Roman Reigns, his finger pointed accusingly in their direction. She gulped. They needed to move before Vegeta started yet _ another _ international security incident, and they needed to move _ now. _

__

She prepared her most classic Saiyan diversion tactic. “Vegeta, will you go start the plane? There’s an all-you-can-eat buffet two miles away that’s closing soon. I’m sure I have some paper here I could get John to sign if you hurry up.” Her promise of more food broke his focus on the Doctor of Thuganomics, and he nodded excitedly before sprinting off.

__

Cena turned to face Bulma as she scribbled her own signature on a piece of paper.

__

“Hey, uh… he seems cool and all, but… does he not know WWE matches are all scripted?"

__

Blue eyes twinkled as she winked. “Absolutely not, and I plan to leave it that way.” 

__

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry… I love Roman Reigns but everyone hating him despite the show's best efforts to make him a hero is kind of his thing.  
> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> Catch me on tumblr [@flyinglowdown](https://flyinglowdown.tumblr.com), don't have a ton of Vegebul content but I love to chat!!


	3. Cialis, for Daily Use

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> can you tell how much fun I'm having writing this lol

One harassment lawsuit threat cancelling out one assault lawsuit threat later, and Bulma and co. were happily back in West City. 

Still, her houseguest insisted his protection of her was simply the prerogative of a Saiyan prince, but Vegeta had shown her enough of his cards with the impulse act for Bulma to know her hand was so stacked that not even a flush could beat her, however  _ royal _ it may be. She had the same dressed in a trump suit, and she intended to play it. 

And so their dance continued: Bulma most often, but sometimes Vegeta, taking turns to push the other out of their comfort zone. But Bulma relished in a good shove, and so it wasn’t surprising when her assessment of his ass as “utterly smackable” pushed Vegeta so far that he didn’t leave the gravity room for forty-three hours. Self-doubt is rarely an emotion Bulma wears, but she begins to think she may have finally pushed him too far. That is, until he reappears and repeatedly insists he just had a lot of extra energy to work off. Sure... _ energy. _ Bulma doesn’t speak Saiyago, but she doesn’t need to be Merriam-Webster himself to know “energy” is a direct translation of “sexual frustration”. 

She knows he would have remained in training if not for his need to make an appearance in the living room every few days whenever there’s a particular WWE match or pre-season Vikings game he’s intent on watching. And so that’s where she finds him four days after she complimented his derriere, waiting for her to set up the TV so he can watch Becky Lynch put Money in the Bank. She could easily teach him to stream online or maneuver the pay-per-view channels, but if he’s going to watch women’s wrestling, he’s going to watch it with her, goddamnit. 

Her attempts at small talk are mostly met with grunts, but sometimes he can’t hold in his admiration of a particular move and she can get a few words out of him. He’s better during commercial breaks, willing to exchange a handful of sentences with her, or at least listen to her ramble about her day. So, the breaks start to excite her more than the actual event footage.

But god, why is every advertisement another pharmaceutical company looking to push their newest drug—

“I keep seeing variations of this ridiculous propaganda you earthlings use to convince each other to purchase useless products whenever I use the YouTube application. Why the fuck does every one end with them bathing in tubs next to each other?” 

She turns to the screen and her popcorn goes down the wrong way and oh my god and is this really happening and she is SO fucking glad the Heimlich is apparently universal because now Vegeta is putting pressure on her diaphragm and her gaze is still locked on the screen and it’s… it’s… it’s…

Cialis, for daily use. 

Oh. 

My. 

_ God. _

She’s not sure who’s speaking because it can’t be  _ her, _ she’s still in shock, but her mouth is moving and sounds are leaving her lips. “Do you… not know what this commercial is for?” How could he not? The terrible sexual innuendo is stronger in erectile dysfunction ads than a GoDaddy commercial; it couldn’t be more obvious if a ton of bricks hit you.

“Of course I don’t; I don’t listen to them. What could you earthlings possibly advertise that could entice me? Besides variously cured meats, which this obviously wasn’t.”

“Oh, it’s for cured meats of a different variety, all right.” Bulma muttered. This  _ couldn’t _ be happening. 

Now that she thought about it, he had said “every one”—so how many goddamn times had he seen these commercials? Everyone and their mother knew that if you so much as _ mentioned _ to your friends that lumberjack boots as heels would be hilarious, you were going to have sequined canvas stilettos populating your social media once a week for months, the cookies betraying to advertising agents your one second of weakness. So if he was seeing Cialis ads on the reg, what on Earth had he been looking up?

Or moreover—what had he been looking up that Cialis’s marketers decided to target him as an ideal customer? 

Vegeta cocked an eyebrow, clearly still expecting an answer to his original question. 

“So uh… what have you been looking up on the internet lately?”

His forehead creased. “What relevance does that have, woman? But if you must know,” he preened a little, “how to build one’s stamina, how to last longer while training, etcetera. Stress relief exercises and the like. Many of these techniques assume I am as weak as your pathetic Earth fighters, but they do make entertaining diversions from my more thorough training regimen.”

Stress relief? That was new. But that in conjunction with “stamina building” and “lasting longer”… Welp. That’d do it. 

Bulma cleared her throat. “You see, that’s kind of what Cialis is for. It’s supposed to help you last longer, and to get back up when you get knocked down. Just, with ED.” 

“If that doesn’t stand for Earth Destruction then I don’t care.”

Bulma paused. Which description would make him most uncomfortable? Slang? Casual conversation? Overly medical terminology? Yup, that was definitely the winner.

“Yeah, ‘fraid not champ. If you had it, then you would most definitely care. See, sometimes, especially with older men, you have difficulty achieving an erection sufficiently long and hard enough to ejaculate. So, in order to have sex, some men take this pill to increase blood flow to the penis, resulting in an enlarged prostate. And that pill is Cialis.” 

“Wha—why—who—bu—bu—bu—” For distinctly lacking metallic parts, Vegeta was doing a splendid impression of a backfiring car. He jumped up from the couch, backing halfway across the room in a second. “Humans speak of such matters? Publicly? On television in the middle of the day when any unsuspecting person could be watching?” He shuddered. “I thought it was just you that was vulgar. But I was wrong. It’s this entire _ planet." _ His body was inching closer and closer to the door, feet seemingly moving of their own accord.

“Oh come on, it’s perfectly normal, and there’s absolutely nothing wrong with seeking treatment for a genuine medical concern. Sexual health is important you know!”

“A Saiyan would never have need of such a thing! We clearly have far more skill and stamina than you weaklings. This is just another testament to how pathetic you humans are.” The wallpaper crinkled against his back and his hand searched the wall beside him, the doorknob rattling as Vegeta’s hand finally landed on it. “And now I require food to maintain that stamina. Goodbye.” His hair lingered half a second as he whipped out, door slamming behind him.

“Flabbergasted” didn’t begin to cover it. For all Vegeta talked a big game about Saiyans having more stamina and skill, he was so flustered by their conversation that he couldn’t have confirmed Bulma’s suspicions that he was a virgin more if he had come outright and said it. In fact, if he had admitted it, she would have had less confidence in his admission than her own intuition. 

Bulma followed him to the kitchen, finding his upper body stuffed in the fridge snagging plate after plate of food to fill the bottomless void that was his stomach. He pretended not to have heard her come in. 

She tapped her foot impatiently. “I said it before, and I’ll say it again. It’s perfectly normal, and there’s no reason to be shamed for your medical needs.”

He shoved past her to sit at the table, arms laden with dishes of the leftovers Panchy always prepared for him. “I couldn’t disagree more. Discussing such a matter publicly is disgusting.” Bulma plopped herself onto the stool to his right. Vegeta stiffened, shoveling food into his mouth far faster than he had just a few seconds ago.

“Aww, you’re just freaking out because you’re a complete prude. You can’t even sit next to me without stiffening up. You’re practically Victorian.”

“I am not!” He protested, despite Bulma knowing for a fact his knowledge of Earth history extended only to famous battles and ancient weapons, and not 19th century social norms.

Bulma lifted her leg. “Oh no! An ankle! How sexual! How can I control myself sitting next to this harlot? Nay, I cannot! I must flee!” 

Emotion dropped off his face, Vegeta determinedly schooling his features into nonchalance as if she hadn’t just read his mind. He apparently had abandoned his escape plan, instead turning his body to face her to challenge her assessment. 

“Congratulations! You can tolerate my presence like a big boy. Too bad I know you’re going to run away the second I get any closer.” She leaned in, crossing well over the boundary of personal space that would be comfortable for friends. He freezes. For all they’ve danced around each other, when push comes to shove and Vegeta is not the one in charge, he is utterly lost. 

She’s practically in his lap at this point, hands braced on the back of his chair and torso hovering over his. Pure onyx eyes stare back into hers, pupils so dilated she can’t tell where they end and his irises begin. This is her revenge for his teasing in the past. But unlike him, she’s actually going to make good on her taunts.

“You like this, don’t you?” 

His breath is coming harder. “Of course not.”

His words say no but his body language says yes and all of a sudden he’s panting slightly, much  _ much _ closer, and Bulma blinks because she certainly wasn’t the one who did that.

She closes the minuscule gap remaining between them. 

Her lips touch his and it’s heaven.

Vegeta’s lips are softer than she expected. They give where she pushes against him. And for all the meat Saiyans obsess over, he still somehow tastes subtly sweet, a minty coolness where her lips are pressed to his. He’s stone-still underneath her at first, and she pulls back a hair to find his eyes wide open, frozen in shock. 

“I—”

“Shush. It’s okay. Close your eyes,” she whispers.

Her lips return to his, tilting her head to deepen the kiss because she is determined to show him how good it is to kiss Bulma Briefs if it’s the last thing she does. She draws his bottom lip between her teeth, pulling away with a pop before returning to press firmly against his full lips, coaxing him to reciprocate. 

His lips twitch underneath hers, and in that second, he’s entirely undone. Vegeta’s arms wrap around her and she squeaks as he hauls her onto his lap, arms pulling her chest to his as he kisses her in earnest, a dehydrated man tasting water for the first time in days.

She can barely keep up with his frantic pace, sure her lips are going to be bruised tomorrow. Her tongue sweeps across his mouth, prompting him to open his lips and deepen the kiss further. He doesn’t seem to pick up on her signal so she sucks on his bottom lip again, and his mouth falls open with a gasp. 

She slips into his mouth and soon their tongues are battling for dominance, all hot pressure and bumping noses as they try to pull ever closer into the other. 

Bulma pulls back, gasping for breath. Her fingers sink into his hair, tangling in his locks and much like his lips, it is far softer than she expected. She drags his head to the side, exposing the tanned column of his neck. She drops open-mouthed kisses down his jaw line, then lowers to suckle at his pulse. His grip tightens and he rewards her with a barely concealed groan.

Her body is flush against his and Kami, having a chest like his should be a sin. She pushes against his torso, savoring the feeling of his corded arms wrapped around her back… and the feel of something  _ else _ pressing against her thigh. She pulls back with a grin. 

“Yeah, I got good news. You definitely don’t need Cialis.”


	4. Let's Get It Started HOT

Her back hits granite _hard_ but his snarl hits her harder. “As if I could possibly be interested in you.”

Well that was an about-face. More like as if he _couldn’t_ be interested in her. “Yeah, that wasn’t what your body was saying,” she laughs.

He scoffs. “Your crude assessments of my body paint your character well enough. I could never want someone so desperate for male attention as you.”

 _Oof. That was a low blow._ Bulma catches her reflection in the glossy countertop she gripped to recover her balance from his shove off his lap, all hurt feelings and shock. She needs to shut that shit down _fast_ and so she does, expression now harder than diamond. 

Was this what rejection felt like? She wouldn’t know, nobody had been stupid enough to turn her down before Vegeta.

“Sounds good. Lemme know when you stop being a little bitch.”

* * *

Mulling it over in her room later, Bulma didn’t know what she had expected. Well, this actually. He was an emotionally constipated alpha male whose mission in life was to be able to kick the shit out of anybody better than they could kick the shit out of him. He didn’t do _feelings,_ and now that he was it scared him. Logically, she knew what was happening—it just hurt to actually go through it. She knew he cared for her; now he just had to figure it out too.

But he could pull his head out of his own ass, thank you very much. She’d already hit her quota for the month.

* * *

And that’s how they spent the next two weeks, Bulma waiting for Vegeta to realize cooties weren’t real, and, in her wildest dreams, _apologize,_ but otherwise each one coolly ignored the other. If her friends noticed they could practically cut the tension in the Briefs’ home with a knife, they didn’t mention it.

Yamcha in fact was thriving, the tension allowing his hopes to take root once again. Despite her constant no’s, he refused to wilt.

“C’mon Bulma, we haven’t all been out as a group in forever!”

Bulma rolled her eyes. “Yamcha, normally I’m always game to go clubbing, but the clubs you’ve been dragging us to lately are basically a glorified mating ritual.”

“Please, Bulma? Everyone’s going.”

“Fine! Whatever. I’ll meet you there at 11.”

Yamcha’s smile lit up. “Awesome! I’ll tell Krillin.”

Bulma had just turned the corner when she was immediately clotheslined.

A corded arm stretched above her from where she lay on the floor. “Owww, what the _fuck,_ Vegeta?”

“I want to go clubbing with you.”

Bulma was egotistical in many ways, but perhaps the most of all about the size of her brain. But this might be too much for even her intellect to handle.

“But… why?”

“Tch. You’re too weak to defend yourself. If you die, there will be no one to fix my training bots.”

She snorted. “Yeah, okay. Keep telling yourself that, bud. But I’m warning you right now, I don’t think you’ll be able to handle the experience.”

His nostrils flared. “Of course I can! Who do you think I am, woman?”

* * *

“I don’t think I can handle this.”

Blue eyes shot up from the drink she’d been nursing, hip resting against the vinyl of the small booth in the furthest, most obscure corner of the nightclub.

The club was all strobing lights and swaying bodies, the pounding beats fueling the primitive energy that hung in the air. They’d gotten to the club an hour ago, and despite their insistence, Vegeta had refused to join them on the dance floor, instead choosing to camp out in the VIP lounge the owner had escorted them to when she first heard Bulma Briefs was at her club. Bulma had been so determined to have nothing to do with him until _he_ came crawling back to _her,_ but seeing him sitting there with arms crossed while the rest of the group enjoyed themselves on the floor had led her back to keep him company.

“What, _Exotica Luxury_ isn’t doing it for you?” Who the hell came up with these names? She wondered absently. They sounded like something that came out of a random generator. Lush Desire, Secret Ecstasy, Elysium Nights...

“Tch. This place is neither exotic nor luxurious. Every disgusting drinking establishment I have been to in the universe was just that: disgusting and full of drunks. But…” he seemed cagey. “This was not what I thought it was.”

“Duh. Clearly you didn’t know, otherwise you would never have come in the first place. What did you think it was?”

“…I thought you said clubbing was a mating ritual,” he mumbled and swallowed thickly, almost as if he was trying to physically catch and hold back each word that escaped his lips. “And the Weakling once told me I looked like a man who’d enjoy clubbing baby seals. For once in his miserable life I believe he was right. So, I decided to accompany you.”

...baby seals?!

“You—you thought… we were all going to bash small animals over the head tonight? That _that’s_ what clubbing was?” Her forehead creased as she contemplated Vegeta’s newest insanity for a moment. “And why on Earth would clubbing cute animals be a mating ritual?”

“On Vegeta-sei hunting animals _is_ the beginning of a mating ritual. Presenting your intended with fresh meat proves your skill as a warrior and ability to provide for any brats you sire.”

Bulma’s grin became predatory, scenting blood in the water. “I thought you said you weren’t interested in me?”

He jerked his head to the side, staring off at some distant point. But even with the dim light, Bulma could discern the pink coloring his cheeks. “Feh. I’m not. I just wasn’t about to let you go anywhere where the Weakling would propose such a match. Interacting with you and your parents is tiresome enough, I have no desire for the Weakling to spend more time in my presence.”

“That ship sailed a long time ago. But even if it hadn’t, you don't get to dictate my life, Vegeta.” She turned to leave, spying Piccolo’s unmistakable green head over the crowd.

Vegeta slipped in front of her, arms crossed. “So then this _isn’t_ a mating ritual.”

Kami, why was she the one who had to give him every version of The Talk there could possibly be? She sighed, resigned to her fate. “Not necessarily. Sometimes people do come to the club just looking to find someone to hook up with. Like, casual sex. Or sometimes they come with their significant others or friends just to have fun. Look at Chi-Chi and Goku.”

Their gaze shifted to where Chi-Chi and Goku were encircled in each other’s arms, laughing to some unheard joke as they swayed to the music. He didn’t try to stop her as she stepped past him this time, continuing through the undulating bodies.

* * *

Bulma’s hips swung to the beat, hands locked in Krillin’s as they spun in circles laughing. She hadn’t had this much fun in a while, and had almost forgotten how much she missed her friends. Piccolo was _tearing_ up the dance floor. As it turned out, being part slug let him do some _freaky_ flexible dance moves, and so naturally, every cocky guy in the club had tried to challenge him to a dance off or break-dancing competition. He was on his 21st consecutive win, while the rest of them were all dancing in a circle, laughing at each other’s dumb dance moves and sampling each other’s drinks.

Except for Vegeta.

He had returned to lurk in his corner. The Z Fighters had flitted over periodically, attempting to engage him, but he had steadfastly refused their overtures. It had been nearly three hours already, and it was time for this anti-social hissy fit to stop.

 _Attempt #2, commencing._ Bulma thought mutinously as she marched over to place her hands on her hips.

“Why aren’t you drinking anything?”

“I don’t know what swill on your planet is actually worth drinking.”

“I _offered_ to get you a screwdriver too when I got one earlier.”

He looked offended. “What use would I have for one of your mechanical tools?”

“What? No—it’s a type of drink.” Her fingers massaged her temples, hoping to alleviate the splitting migraine of the variety only Vegeta could bring about. “You’re telling me you’ve been sitting here sober the entire time?” How he hadn’t destroyed the club yet was utterly beyond her when normally somebody _breathing_ wrong could send him into a tantrum loud enough to make a toddler jealous.

“I had some alcohol. Kakarot’s harpy offered me something called rosé but I didn’t care for it. And I tried something that Piccolo was drinking called UV Blue. The way it glowed it was probably radioactive; I wouldn’t be surprised if my hair turned as blue as yours.” He shivered. “I’m practically vibrating with energy from the sugar high and I only had a few sips. I liked it much better than the rosé, but I don’t know how long I can sustain the energy from that drink.”

“Come on, let’s get you something else. It’ll loosen you up.”

To his credit, Vegeta didn’t even flinch as he downed the double of tequila and then accepted the Old Fashioned that was pressed into his hand at the bar. Bulma popped the lime from her mouth and picked up her own cocktail, running her finger along the rim of the glass. “Feeling better?”

He stood to face her, with less fluidity than she had grown used to. He shook his head a little and grimaced. And was he swaying on his feet?

“I—look, what I said before—well, Saiyans don’t really lie much, but when I said I—”

 _Let’sssss get it started, in hereeeeeeeeeee,_ Fergie’s contralto blasted from the stereo.

Bulma gasped. “This is my favorite song! Just come with me to the dance floor, you can’t tell me early 2000's Black Eyed Peas doesn’t make you want to dance.”

The scowl on his face caught Bulma off guard. “Never mind,” he muttered, snatching his drink off the bar and marching back toward the booth, still slightly off-balance.

 _Shit. Maybe I should have thought before I opened my big mouth and interrupted him._ She sighed, breaking her gaze from his retreating form. Still, if he didn’t want to dance with a beautiful, brilliant heiress, there were plenty of other men who did, but staring at his ass was NOT helping her remember that.

Five minutes later, she was back swaying to the rhythm with the rest of the gang when someone pressed against her back. She looked over her shoulder to see a man she didn’t recognize.

“Hey.” He flashed her a winning grin.

Bulma was decidedly not into random guys just grinding up on her from behind in the club, but she had an infuriatingly attractive roommate to forget and this guy was like, kind of cute. If she squinted.

Eh. He’d do.

She had just leaned back into his arms when her arm was practically yanked out of its socket. She yelped as she crashed into a hard chest, finding herself looking up into a fiery black stare.

“Vegeta?! What the fuck—I already told you, you can’t dictate my life.” Her free hand made contact with his shoulder, pushing hard. “I’m taking a dude home tonight, just get over it and take your macho shit out of here.”

His grip tightened on her wrist, and Kami, every word smelled like a distillery. _"I_ am the only man who will be returning to Capsule Corp tonight.”

“Yeah, that’s not what I meant. I already told you, I’m getting laid tonight and since you’ve been pretty explicit that you’re not interested—”

He tugged on her arm again, pulling her farther out of sight of the group. His other arm curled around her waist pulling her flush against his solid chest, and his hard, well. 

His lips dropped to her ear. “I’ve told you before. You’re _mine,"_ he growled.

“So, I’m guessing this means my crude assessments of your body don’t actually bother you all that much?” Her eyes met his again and she could see the truth in them. Her face softened, the corners of her mouth quirking up. Trust Saiyan possessiveness to be the thing to finally defeat his denial.

He didn’t respond, but spun her around and his grip tightened, hands on either side of her as he pressed against her back. He shifted his hips from side to side, grinding his cock against her ass. “This is how you earthlings display your claim on another, correct?” She nodded breathlessly, hands reaching behind her to sink her fingers into his hair. He snorted. “Such a vulgar woman.”

She couldn’t hold back a laugh. “Actually, in high school they told us to leave room for Jesus.”

He growled and suddenly she was facing him again, heavy hands on her shoulders. “Who is this Jesus and why would I leave room for him when I intend to be the only consort in your life? Do I need to fight this man to assert my claim? I could defeat any pathetic human with one hit.”

She laughed again. “No, he’s a religious figure who’s worshipped because he rose from the dead and—”

“So did I, that’s not particularly impressive.”

“Yeah, but in Christianity he did it without the Dragon—” A loud crash echoed through the club, and their heads whipped to the right just in time to see a body go sailing across the room.

“And you can—can st-stay awayy from my wwwife!” Goku slurred, shoving another man into the speakers.

Bulma groaned. “Shit, I forgot Son can’t restrain himself when he gets drunk.”

Vegeta was already crouching into a jump when she seized his waist from behind. “Wait!”

He looked imperiously over his shoulder. “Woman, if you think you can stop me from fighting Kakarot—”

“Look, I’m not telling you _not_ to fight him. But can you just drag him outside first? You’ll kill people if you two fight in here. Then go ahead and have at him, he deserves it frankly.” 

His eyes flashed and the corner of his mouth jerked up involuntarily. And then he was speeding out of her grip, hand already on the back of Goku’s gi and dragging him towards the door.

 _Some things never change,_ Bulma thought as Tien and Krillin joined the fray. But the fact that she could distract him even for a few seconds from a fighting Goku spoke volumes as to how much he already had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MANY MANY thanks to the wonderful and incredible [Anyes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anyes) for beta-ing this chapter!
> 
> Vegeta thinking "going clubbing" means "clubbing baby seals" is literally the idea that kicked off this whole fic so lemme tell ya I am DELIGHTED to have gotten to it
> 
> p.s. you can pry my headcanon that 'Saiyan metabolisms work so quickly that it clears alcohol out of their systems within minutes BUT for the first minute or two after they chug a drink they are Fucked Up' out of my cold, dead hands.


	5. *waves hand* these are not the feelings you are looking for

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like all the major plot points of Return of the Jedi are well known bc it came out in 1983 but jsyk there IS discussion of the ending of the original trilogy of Star Wars so SPOILER ALERT

“MAY THE FOURTH BE WITH YOU!”

A bloodshot eye cracked open, only for Vegeta to find his vision had been obscured by the blue banshee hovering over him holding… a glowing red pole. He groaned and rolled over. It was at least three hours too early for this shit. 

_ Vrummm. _ Hard plastic smacked him in the back. “Look, I know you like to spend all of your time trying to find out what gravity multiplier will finally turn you into a splatter on the floor, but today is the most important Earth holiday of all and you’re  _ going _ to celebrate it with me, whether you like it or not.” 

His eyes landed on the clock next to his bed, the red numbers 5:30 glaring accusingly at him. Shit. He’d only been sleeping for two hours, and regret towards his late-night training session almost seeped into his weary bones. It certainly wasn’t  _ his _ fault he’d gotten thinking about how some third class had achieved Super Saiyan before him and he’d had to work off the aggravation. 

“Will my agreement get you to leave me alone so I can  _ sleep _ ?” 

Bulma pumped the air with her fists. “YES! YES! YES! Be in the living room at 8PM sharp for Episode IV. Normally I would force everyone to watch all three in a row, but I think the last time you were able to sit that long you were unconscious in a pod, so we’ll have to build up your binging stamina.”

* * *

Vegeta wandered into the living room at 8:06 unshowered, just to be petulant. Bulma was already set up, a large bowl of salty carb goodness positioned on her lap. “What possible purpose could you have for waking me up so early if you were only going to have me arrive at 8PM?”

She quirked an eyebrow with practiced condescension. “Well I had to watch Episodes I through VI  _ before _ you got here so I could actually appreciate them. I had 13.5 hours of movies to get through, you know.”

“Is this one of those “action” films you keep trying to make me watch that make the third-eye mutant and small clown look like talented fighters?” This sarcasm thing was starting to grow on him. It could be a good tool for humiliating his opponents verbally before humiliating them physically.

Bulma laughed. “It’s an older movie, but it checks out. Still a great classic.” She smirked. “I don’t regret making you watch The Expendables though. But you don’t watch those movies for quality.”

“Then why waste your time on such a pale imitation of real battle?"

“Uh, it’s a total sausage fest. And Sylvester Stallone is a  _ daddy _ .”

He’d heard enough of her meat-themed puns to guess the meaning of _ that _ and glared at her out of the corner of his eye. “Vulgar woman. And besides, I am far more muscular than any of those pathetic weaklings anyways,” he gestured to his abs in indignation. 

Bulma snorted. “Sure. But at least most of those guys would be able to appreciate a beautiful and brilliant woman, instead of ignoring her.” She had been hoping that Saiyan sexual appetites would match their passion for stuffing their faces with food, but Vegeta had been nothing but standoffish since their night at the club. She really should have known—she had heard Chi-Chi complain often enough about Goku. Sighing, she pushed off the couch to insert the DVD, completely oblivious to the hungry eyes following her every move.

* * *

“The smuggler was wise to shoot first. There is no reason to waste one’s attention on such a weakling opponent.”

“Ah yes, how could I forget that anyone who is marginally less powerful than you is worth nothing! I guess that’s why Goku going Super Saiyan decides the fate of the Earth.”

“ ** _I_** am the Super Saiyan.”

Bulma grinned. “Not yet.” The cushions shifted behind her as she twisted to face him, ignoring Jabba’s garbled arguing on-screen. Nasty slug. “So are you enjoying it so far?”

“Tch. The foolish earthlings who produced this clearly have no understanding of how space travel functions. And the characters have no idea either—they shouldn’t be allowed anywhere near a gravity simulator, let alone a pod. But if I were stuck on that terrible planet, I would be desperate to get off it too.” He shuddered. “I don’t like sand.”

“Kami, you’re a walking caricature. Let me guess, Darth Vader is your favorite character too?”

Vegeta had the nerve to look offended. “Of course he is. I respect his quest to gain power at any cost.”

“Uh, he originally wasn’t trying to gain power just for power’s sake, but nice try, bud.”

Vegeta’s brow furrowed. “Then how did he find the motivation to endure extensive training to make himself the strongest warrior in the galaxy?”

“Oh no, we’re not watching the prequels. I like my TV intact, thank you very much.”

He grunted in response. “So then how did he attain such power?”

She grinned and shimmied across the couch. “Would you believe me if I said it was for a beautiful woman?” she said, snuggling into his side.

He stiffened under her embrace. Bulma sighed, pulling away. “I just don’t understand the point of repeatedly informing me ‘you’re mine’ to then push me away. Literally the last time you touched me was when Yamcha came by to try to convince me to throw you out.”

A low growl tore from his throat. “No other man will touch you.”

“Yeah, well if you’re only going to when you’re staking your territory, I dunno how long we’re going to last,” Bulma grumbled, returning to her previous seat.

And so they remained on opposite ends until the film ends, silence punctuated only by Vegeta’s  _ extensive _ complaints about the movie. 

* * *

For all he banged on about the physics inaccuracies and how no democratic political system of government could manage a galaxy so large—and moreover that the rebels should give up, the Empire already had the right idea—he still showed up for Revenge of the Fifth to watch the Empire Strikes Back with her.

“Woman, why do you keep looking at me?”

“Oh, no reason.” Just that they were already at Cloud City and this was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to witness the reaction of someone who didn’t know the most famous plot reveal in cinematic history, or didn’t know enough German to deduce it from the name alone.

To say Vegeta was shocked was an understatement. Of course, his wide-eyed disbelief quickly turned to assent, declaring that of  _ course _ Darth Vader was Luke’s father. Who else could have sired such a powerful fighter with so little training? It was clearly due to his superior genetics. 

( _ *coughs coughs* _ there are NO Trunks parallels to see here. None at all.)

After that, he was far more engrossed in the storyline, and actually started  _ engaging _ with her, so much so that he didn’t notice he was getting closer and closer to her until their arms touched. 

That is, until Leia popped a wet one on Luke’s lips and then pulled away to glare at Han. 

Vegeta pulled back, arms crossing as he scowled at the screen. “Feh. She manipulates the warrior’s emotions just for her petty game with the smuggler.” He glared at Bulma out the corner of his eye. “You probably see yourself and the bandit in this ruffian. Even when there is  _ clearly _ a more powerful male in the area.”

_ Fucking asshole, _ Bulma thought mutinously. “So what, you’re acting like a douche because you think I’m just going to dump you for Yamcha?” Probably not, but still. If he was really projecting their relationship on Luke and Leia… she cackled on the inside. If he was shocked by the Luke-I-Am-Your-Father plot twist, then just wait until he got a load of that one.

He scoffed. “Of course not. Emotions are for weaklings. My whole life has been a lesson that attachments like you are just more weaknesses for your enemies to expl—” he snapped his mouth shut, fists clenching tightly as he looked away.

Sometimes she forgot. She knew he’s a mass-murdering, power-hungry psycho that had repeatedly attempted to murder her best friend. She also knew he thinks punching five-year old boys is hilarious and routinely asserts he’ll one day destroy the Earth. But sometimes she forgot that despite all the trauma he’s caused, he’s been on the receiving end of it as well. And when she remembers Frieza on Namek, Vegeta’s emotional hang ups start to make a lot more sense.

In a way that was quickly becoming a pattern, they finished this movie in near silence as well.

* * *

_ Leia! Leia’s my sister. _

Bulma’s eyes monitored Vegeta’s face for any reaction. Hm, she’d never seen his face turn this particular shade of green before. A fistful of popcorn gets stuffed in his mouth but doesn’t quite muffle the quiet scream he’s working hard not to emit. Fascinating. 

He swallowed thickly, and if he were anyone else she’d be worried about the  _ very  _ clear choking hazard that just presented. “I...I’ve never been so disgusted in my life.” He shuddered. “This—is a sexual relationship between related individuals…  _ normal _ for humans?” Another fistful of popcorn stuffed its way into his mouth. 

“Nope. Well, maybe in some American states, but not really elsewhere. But one between her and Han totally is.”

Vegeta shuddered again. “Your whole species… engaging in such conduct with such frequency and brazenness… disgusting.” He snatched up a beer and downed it, doubtless trying to block out what he’d just learned.

* * *

As he watched the convulsing Vader collapse after tossing the Emperor down the reactor shaft, his eyes narrowed. “Such a strong warrior, killed not in battle but by his own emotional weakness. Pathetic.” He snorted. “The Emperor’s ki didn’t even seem that strong. Those blasts were paltry. Even the bald one’s Kamehame attack is more impressive than that. If he had ignored his son, he surely would have defeated the Emperor without damage and ascended to his position.”

Bulma couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “Dude, seriously? The whole point of the story is that love is what saved Vader and enabled him to defeat the Emperor.”

“No. It allowed him to be destroyed by the Emperor.” He turned to face her. “Did you ever hear what happened to Nappa?” She shook her head. “I thought not. It’s not a story your precious Z Fighters would tell you.” He shifted slightly, and it was only through weeks of close proximity that Bulma could tell he was uncomfortable. “Frieza had total control of all aspects of our lives. Frieza truly was a tyrant, and so cunning he could sense any threat to himself before your traitorous thought had even taken form. He became so powerful that the only thing he was afraid of was losing his power, which eventually, of course, he did. And so to keep us all firmly under his boot, he kept us from forming any connections. And he was sadistic about it too. I once saw him force feed a soldier’s son to him after he failed to secure a planet before Cooler’s men could. When I was younger, I assumed I would one day take a mate and continue my lineage. But with Frieza, anyone you cared about died and any plans of that died.

“Shortly before I arrived on Earth, he told me to kill Nappa and Raditz. Raditz took care of it himself, the pathetic fool, and Nappa was easy enough to destroy after his embarrassing performance against Earth’s weak defenders.” His tone was callous, but his eyes had glazed over in a way she had rarely seen before. “And they were just my subordinates. Can you imagine what Frieza would have done with a mate?

“Unfortunately for him, he taught me to avoid those connections all my life, and so I had no trouble killing his guard on Namek, despite knowing all of them since I was a child. If he hadn’t taught me so well, perhaps Zarbon or the Ginyus would have been alive to distract Kakarot long enough for Frieza to deal the final blow.” He scoffed. “Ironic.”

Bulma put her hand on his shoulder. “Hey. You can say you didn’t care about Nappa and Raditz dying all you like, but you worked with them for years and they were the last of your race. Frieza took that away from you, and made you actually do the dirty work. That’s awful.”

He swatted her hand away. “You humans and your sentimentality are so foolish. I don’t regret it. He taught me a valuable lesson. Emotions are weakness and they only hold you back. Since I rid myself of those two idiots I have become infinitely stronger.” 

She grabbed his face and twisted, forcing his eyes to meet hers. “This is the reason why you keep treating me like shit isn’t it? Frieza was an abusive idiot and you listening just keeps his influence living on.” 

He looked away and cleared his throat. “Are there more of these space films?”

“Yeah, there’s a whole prequel trilogy explaining how the Republic fell but I already told you most people actually really don’t—you know what? You’re going to love it. There’s an even darker Sith Lord in there.”

His eyes lit up. “Darker than Vader? Truly?”

“Well, I don’t want to spoil anything… but all I’ll say is that meesa thinks you’ll never see Darth Jar Jar coming.”

He gave her a piercing look. “There’s no more… siblings… engaging in romantic acts, is there?” 

She cackled. “No, I think it’s safe to say that only happened because the director made the decision to make them related after the fifth movie was already shot. And besides that, you seem to talk about sex a lot for someone who says it’s disgusting.” She scooted a little closer to him on the couch. “I think you’ve been torturing yourself trying to stay away from me these past few weeks. Look, caring for someone isn’t a weakness. Connections are what gives you the strength to fight harder, better, faster, stronger.” 

Her fingers traced a path down his bicep. “So… can you agree to stop lying to yourself and start doing the things that I know you want to—you’ve always done it in every other aspect of your life so you should go ahead and do it here.” 

His eyes drifted to her lips and suddenly he’d laid her down on the cushions, his heavy body pinning her down as he claimed her mouth, all hot pressure settling over her body until he wasn’t. She sat up in confusion, to find him standing next to the couch.

“Goodnight, woman.”

He walked towards the stairs, leaving her sitting in stunned silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also here are all the Classique memes bc I just can't help myself:
> 
> [May the Fourth](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Star_Wars_Day)  
> [Revenge of the Fifth](https://knowyourmeme.com/memes/events/revenge-of-the-fifth)  
> [*waves hand* These are not the feelings you are looking for](https://youtu.be/532j-186xEQ?t=38)  
> [The Expendables, truly a sausage fest](https://consequenceofsound.net/wp-content/uploads/2014/08/ex3-poster.jpg?quality=80&w=807)  
> [It’s an old movie, but it checks out](https://knowyourmeme.com/memes/its-an-older-meme-but-it-checks-out)  
> [Han shot first](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Han_shot_first)  
> [I am the Super Saiyan ](https://youtu.be/03HOhd4GI1w?t=22)  
> [I don't like sand](https://knowyourmeme.com/memes/i-dont-like-sand)  
> [EVERYONE knows Darth Vader is Luke’s dad](http://images6.fanpop.com/image/photos/39400000/large-pitch-perfect-39435434-500-470.jpg)  
> [George Lucas really should have decided Luke and Leia were related before ESB](https://www.huffpost.com/entry/luke-and-leia-kiss_b_8817166)  
> [Sith](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Code_of_the_Sith/Legends)/[Jedi](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Jedi_Code) code  
> [(Almost) Everyone hates the prequels](https://slate.com/human-interest/2015/05/star-wars-why-does-everyone-hate-the-prequels.html)  
> [Darth Jar Jar, the darkest of Sith Lords](https://www.reddit.com/r/StarWars/comments/3qvj6w/theory_jar_jar_binks_was_a_trained_force_user/)


	6. A Birthday of A Most Sexually Explicit Sort

“And why exactly am I being forced to attend this event?”

“Because my mother was devastated when she found out Piccolo’s never had a birthday party, and she’ll take any excuse to stuff my friends full of food. And then it was combined with Gohan’s, since it’s hard enough to get our friends together once a year, let alone twice in a month.”

“That explains why the event is occurring, not why  _ I  _ am required to attend it.”

Cake batter splattered the counter as Bulma turned the spatula on her petulant boyfriend.  _ "You _ are required to attend it because my mother wants you to come and she’s my mother, so you better make her happy for a variety of reasons, not the least of which being that she keeps up with your mammoth appetite.” A few more strokes of the spatula, and the cake was ready to pop in the oven. “And, need I remind you, you literally abused Gohan when he was pretty much a toddler so it’s time for you to make up for how much of a dick you were with a pretty spectacular present.” 

The leftover batter-coated spatula rested on the counter next to the stovetop, commanding Vegeta’s focus. Bulma’s face softened as she noticed his gaze, picking up the spatula and lifting it to his lips.

His tongue had just darted out when she snatched it back and popped it in her own mouth. “No leftover batter for asshole boyfriends who aren’t going to get Gohan a present,” she snarked, grabbing the bowl and marching out of the kitchen. 

Stunned, Vegeta stewed in enraged silence for several moments before pushing off his chair and heading in the direction of the gravity room. “As if leaving such a pathetic excuse for a Saiyan alive wasn’t enough,” he grumbled.

* * *

The party was in full swing by the time Vegeta deigned to appear, fresh from the gravity room. “Fashionably late and unwashed, as always,” Bulma muttered, rolling her eyes. Settling on a sofa across the room, he ignored all except Panchy, who immediately began to ply him with seven different types of appetizers.

Conversation resumed, drawing her back in. Gohan was tucked right up against Piccolo on the couch, enthusiastically hanging onto the green alien's every word. “The only reason I agreed to this event was so we could celebrate the only being I care about on this pathetic planet’s birthday as a group.” He shot a glare Chi-Chi’s way. “Since  _ someone _ said Gohan can’t have a big party of his own because he needs to study.”

A rosy hue tinted Chi-Chi’s cheeks. “We’re still going to have a private party just for family on Gohan’s birthday.” 

Goku bounced up and down in excitement. “Yeah, it’s gonna be so great! Chi-Chi’s making tons of good food and it’s gonna be extra special since Gohan’s turning… uh…” he trailed off.

Piccolo scoffed. “You can’t seriously have forgotten your son’s age.”

Goku shrugged. “I know his birthday's May 18th, I was just never very good at math to begin with and being dead or away for a few years didn’t really help.” He perked up. “But if I sit and think I can definitely figure it out! Gohan’s turning…”

“Eight,” Chi-Chi whispered.

“Eight! He’s turning eight.” Goku finished proudly. 

At that, the trio returned to discussing their latest plan to avoid working the radish field, and Bulma dragged Chi-Chi to the side. 

“I completely agree that Gohan’s studies are very important, but if you’re already taking time out of the day for a family party, I’m sure my parents would be plenty happy to host another party just for Gohan. I know everyone can be really rowdy so I can completely understand not wanting to have them over to your house.”

The martial artist shook her head. “No, I’m not worried about that.” Bulma raised an eyebrow. “If your husband went missing for years at a time or your baby got treated to Piccolo’s idea of ‘building character’ every time the friend group got together, you’d probably try to avoid group gatherings too.”

Bulma laughed. She certainly had a point—Goku wasn’t very good at coming home when he was supposed to. 

* * *

“Open my present first!” A pair of matching foil-wrapped presents were shoved into Piccolo and Gohan’s hands by Master Roshi. “They’re from my own personal collection and it was hard to part with them, but I felt it was time for you to have some of your own.”

Tearing open their presents in hope of some new martial arts gear, both fell quiet as they stared down at the gift in their laps. 

Goku peered over his son’s shoulder. “What’d ya get, Gohan?”

Gohan held up a stack of magazines, their covers littered with voluptuous women in erotic poses.

Chi-Chi tore the magazines from Gohan’s hands. “HOW COULD YOU GIVE MY BABY PORNOGRAPHIC MAGAZINES?!” she screamed, shaking them in Roshi’s face. 

“It’s Piccolo’s twelfth birthday! He’s a man now, he needs a man’s present!” 

“Gohan is EIGHT years old!”

“Well, I didn’t want him to feel left out!” Master Roshi protested. 

Chi-Chi screamed again, tearing a stack of magazines the thickness of a phone book right in half.

Roshi’s fingers tore at his beard, tears flowing freely down his cheeks. “How could you do that! Those were limited edition!”

Chi-Chi rounded on Piccolo. “And you don’t need these either! Twelve is far too young to have anything to do with this perverted nonsense!” The second set of magazines flew straight across the room in her rampaging wake.

“Has nobody noticed that I’ve been an adult since I was three years old?” Rage oozed off of Piccolo in waves, but in the ensuing chaos of Chi-Chi viciously strangling Roshi nobody noticed his anger, nor Oolong retrieving the abandoned magazines from the corner.

“And why would anyone think I needed porn rags?! I’m a genderless slug, in case none of you noticed that either.”

* * *

Present opening went much more smoothly after that, with Piccolo being particularly delighted with Tien’s gift of noise-cancelling headphones—so he could truly embrace solitude during meditation—and a capsule library full of books on interesting topics without a textbook in sight for Gohan from Bulma.

Hours passed, leaving Gohan sleeping soundly in Piccolo’s lap while he tested his new headphones, ignoring the rest of the party-goers who were drinking and catching up to the pop music playing in the background. Until someone felt the need to interrupt their peace.

As always, Vegeta saw something beautiful—friends gathered together, delighting in each other’s company—and felt the need to ruin it. 

“Tch. If you insist on playing this vulgar modern trash, at least play the song about the satisfaction of watching your enemy fall in battle.”

Bulma rolled her eyes. “And which song would that be? It had better be good to replace Beyoncé.”

Vegeta scoffed. “You know, that one about ‘You spin my head right round, right round, when you go down.' The one about the pride of defeating your opponent.”

Everyone immediately fell silent. Even Piccolo had taken off his headphones to observe.

Yamcha cleared his throat. “You mean… Right Round by Flo Rida?”

“Yes.”

Yamcha cleared his throat again. “Yeah… the song that’s pretty notoriously about blowjobs?”

“We’re leaving  _ right  _ now.” Chi-Chi seized Gohan around the middle and grabbed the back of Goku’s gi as she sprinted towards the door, Piccolo hot on her heels. “Thanks for the party!” Chi-Chi called over her shoulder. 

The remaining Saiyan didn’t react, his expression curiously blank as his eyes flitted from side to side trying to assess the room. 

They all stared back. Oolong hid his face behind his pawned magazines, cowering but unable to help himself as he asked, “You know… like… when someone puts their mouth on your penis?”

Vegeta blushed. “Fine! All modern music is tainted, so play the classics instead.”

“Like what?”

“Like Summer of ‘69 or something. One of the classics.”

Her eyes fell closed in anticipation. She’d been waiting for this moment for months, ever since she first put the song on the gravity room playlist.

Tien beat her to it. “Uh… do you actually not know about sixty-nining?”

“What is there to know? It’s a fucking number.”

“No, I mean when two people give each other oral sex at the same time. The song’s about sex.”

“People _ do _ that?” He was utterly scandalized. “You’re telling me one of the greatest songs of all time is just another of those crass travesties?”

“Did you seriously not know what sixty-nining was?”

Vegeta blushed again. “Of course I know what it is! We just… call it something else.” He stood up, walking towards the stairs. “This party is garbage; I’m going to bed.”

Bulma sighed as he left the room. “Well that went about as well as expected.”

* * *

The party wrapped up shortly after that, Bulma saying goodbye to the last of the guests as the clock neared midnight.

“Really, thanks for coming, Yamcha. It feels great having the whole gang back together and I wish I got to see you guys more often." 

Yamcha grinned back at her. “Miss a Briefs party? I would never. Keep me in the loop when everyone gets back together next time.” He paused on the way out. “But wow, I almost would feel bad that Vegeta’s clearly so clueless, except for the fact that he tried to murder us, like, a bunch of times.” Yamcha laughed. “It’s a good thing no woman would ever go for him! You thought about what I said about kicking him out, right?”

“Yeah, bye!” Bulma called out as she slammed the door shut, collapsing against it in relief. It was a miracle that nothing had been blown up or destroyed over the course of the evening. She deserved a good night’s sleep. 

She had just reached her door when she was shoved roughly against the wall. 

Onyx eyes burned as they met hers. God, she did not need to play emotional laborer right now. She needed to go the fuck to sleep. 

“Look, Vegeta, just ignore all the stuff they said. You have nothing to worry about, being inexperienced is totally normal and fine and they’re really assholes for even comment—”

A snarl cut her off. “I’m not bothered, because it’s not true. I am  _ plenty _ experienced and intend to show you that, woman.”

Bulma snorted. “Yeah,  _ okay, _ Vegeta—”

Wind whipped past her as she was swept up and whirled into her room, emitting a small squeak as he kicked the door shut behind her. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't include the smut in this work because it didn't feel tonally appropriate, as it's pretty much 0% humor, and 100% filth. However, it IS written and is included as the second part to the series, so if you're interested, [here's](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20862677) the link to the smut for all y'all heathens.


	7. Enter the Cheeto

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y’all really thought my American ass was gonna make it through a crackfic about pop culture w/o taking a couple potshots at the Cheeto??
> 
> Therefore, PSA if you don’t want to read a chapter that involves and/or insults Trump, don’t read this chapter.
> 
> Going multimedia at the end cause why not it’s crackfic I do what I want

After the birthday party, something shifted in their relationship. Vegeta still trained as if Goku was going to appear on their doorstep ready for a fight at any second, but the time he didn’t spend training he now spent exclusively following Bulma around.

Which would have been fine, except he  _ hovered _ and pestered her _ non-stop _ with questions about musical metaphors or cult TV shows while she was completing delicate projects in the lab or reading a particularly thrilling novel. 

“What is a ‘Donald Trump shit’ and how does it help one take over the world?” 

Bulma threw down her copy of  _ Ravished by the Triceratops. _ “Remind me  _ why _ I introduced you to rap music again?” His determination to not be exposed as a musical literalist was starting to eat into her reading time.

“Woman, I don’t want to hear your self-pitying moaning. I want an answer.” 

Tension was building between Bulma’s temples. Didn’t she see a Groupon for a massage at the local acupuncture place? She should really treat herself. Hell, she was one of the richest women in the world, she didn’t need a Groupon to—

“I’m  _ waiting." _

Insufferable asshole.

“Fine, fine. You remember America?”

“Yes, the country with the Saiyan sport where humans compete for glory and hon—”

“Yeah, football, we got it. Basically, Donald Trump is a despicable human being with probably only two brain cells that’s in charge of running that country, and the craziest part is that a bunch of people actually  _ wanted  _ him to be in charge.” Bulma swiped open her phone, searching the internet with the speed only a first-class Facebook stalker could have. “This is probably a better explanation of the Cheeto-in-Chief.”

“He’s so orange he looks like Jeice. Do all humans from that country have such vivid coloring?” 

“Nope, he just clearly holds a lot of stock in tanning salons and thinks he can single-handedly save the industry.” Bulma sucked her lip between her teeth. “And he’s just bitter because his greatest accomplishment will always be appearing in  _ Home Alone 2." _

“...I still don’t understand what exactly the problem is with this  _ clearly _ Brench-seijin half-breed. He’s done well for himself, if he’s been able to take over a country on his own with just his shit.”

“No, that’s not what Mac Miller meant when he said— okay, just for a start he’s xenophobic, he thinks his country is better than everyone else, he just does whatever he wants with no absolutely no regard for the law…”

Vegeta quirked a brow. 

“Used to raze planets for a living, how could I forget,” Bulma grumbled. “Look, he fucking sucks, okay?” She turned back, “You know what? He once publicly tweeted that the moon and Mars were the same thing.”

“He WHAT?”

“But moreover babe, it doesn’t matter. I’m  _ way _ richer than him,  _ and _ I have more Twitter followers anyways. Plus, I’m not even that active on Twitter, Instagram is where it’s at.” A few more taps on her phone and her profile was pulled up. “See?”

Brows drew together, contemplating the scene in front of him before snorting. “Is this just a shrine to your vanity where you can look at perfectly posed pictures of yourself?”

She plucked the phone out of his fingers. “Uh, no, they’re for other people to look at perfectly posed pictures of me and comment on them.”

Vegeta snatched the phone back, a vein in his forehead pulsing more and more as he scrolled downwards. “You post pictures like this for other men to see? Have you no shame?”

A finger traced up his chest, lifting his chin to look into her wide, shining eyes. “Aw, a jealous boyfriend, how sweet.” She pouted her lips. “You don’t kinda like all these men knowing what they can’t have?”

“...I see your point.”

He didn’t relinquish her phone, continuing his scroll downwards. 

“And why am I in some of these idiotic pictures? And why are all of these people discussing them? As if I could ever care about their thoughts.”

“That’s the whole point of a comments section. Besides, if I kept pictures of you smiling around the house you’d probably destroy them to hide the evidence that you can actually smile; now you can’t.”

Vegeta smirked. His fist clenched and then opened, dust and metal scrap spilling from his hand.

_ Breathe. Exhale, inhale, exhale again. _ “Vegeta, they’re in the Cloud. You can’t destroy them.” 

“I can _ fly _ Bulma, I can destroy a cloud just as easily as I destroyed this piece of junk.” 

“For your information, that was the newest gen of Capsule Corp telecommunications tech that also happened to be perfectly color-matched to my hair,  _ not _ a piece of junk, asshat.” She needed to get out of here before he rose her blood pressure any further. Halfway to the door, she was halted in her tracks by his next words.

“Why were all those girls writing the word “daddy” in the comments area? I’ve heard you say that word as well.”

Nope. Nope nope nope nope nope. Not today, Satan. “You know what? Just look it up on Urban Dictionary.”

“On what?”

“God I have to do everything around here,” Bulma sighed. One capsule later, and another phone was in hand. “Yeah, I don’t care about this one,” she muttered. A few finger swipes across the screen, and she handed the phone to her fiery boyfriend — in both hair and temper — before walking out of the room. 

Dark eyes followed her out of the room before glancing down at the phone, hesitating before his finger swiped up as Bulma disappeared from his view. 

“WOMAN, WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS?”

Another metallic crunching joined Bulma’s peal of laughter as she fled further away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Later that evening, Vegeta lays in Bulma’s bed, muttering about crass humans, vile creatures…
> 
> “Look, it’s kind of a power thing. It’s a perfectly normal kink.”
> 
> “It’s vulgar.”
> 
> “…”
> 
> “…”
> 
> “…you kinda want to try it, don’t you.”
> 
> “…yes.”
> 
> Bonus: Vegeta’s Urban Dictionary discovery process  
> 
> 
> All urban dictionary inspo creds to the ever wonderful Rogue_1102 and Areo_ian.


	8. The Cake is a Lie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pop Culture got nominated for The Prince and The Heiress Annual Awards for Audience Choice for Humor! And I’m so excited to say that I also had two other stories get nominated, Everyone Hail to the Pumpkin Throne (my The Nightmare Before Christmas AU) for Best Short Story, and remission, the forgiveness of sins for Best of the BVDNs! Thank y’all so much for the support, there are some truly GREAT works nominated, so I hope you’ll consider voting which starts tomorrow!

Quest: Find Vegeta a Video Game He Enjoys

Rewards: Sex (40% chance), World Destruction (40% chance), World Destruction AND Sex (20% chance)

> Begin Quest? <

* * *

The door to the gravity room hissed open with a whir, Bulma lifting her hand from the control panel to step inside. Where she found her boyfriend, face-down, and surrounded by the remains of the latest bots that he had destroyed. 

She’d be concerned, except she had witnessed his hissy fit first-hand on the security system she had installed for this very reason.

“Hey, Vegeta.”

“What do you want, woman. I’m busy. Leave me alone,” he groaned.

Bulma rolled her eyes. “Yeah, okay. You gonna tell me what’s wrong or are you gonna just mope there all day like the angsty teenager you are?”

His head whipped to the side, a scowl marring his features. “I didn’t ask for your opinion.”

A few paces and she was kneeling at his side. She clapped his shoulder, “Well, you’re gonna get it anyway.” She reclined on the floor, arms folded behind her head. “So, what’s got your panties in a twist?”

His scowl deepened. He may still be learning the specifics of Earth colloquialisms, but he still understood tone perfectly fine. “Feh. Wouldn’t you like to know.”

“Yup, that’s why I asked.”

He growled. “Your bots are inadequate. I’m constantly grinding, and I never see any tangible outcome from my dedication. I feel like I’m plateauing, and I still haven’t reached Super Saiyan.”

The woman had the nerve to  _ laugh  _ at him. “I’d say you see outcomes when you spend enough time grinding against me.”

“I don’t want  _ out  _ comes, I want to come  _ in _ you, you idiot.” Bulma smacked him upside the head and he growled again, crushing the broken shell of a bot between his fingers.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this for your asshole self, but you sound like you need a break. Gimme a couple hours; I think I have a solution in mind so that you can grind as much as you want and continue leveling up.”

Vegeta gave her a puzzled look. 

“Oh, you’ll see.” 

* * *

“...What is this.”

Bulma leaned forward and pressed a button, lighting up the screen. “This, is your tangible outcome. It’s called Tetris, and it’s probably one of the most famous video games ever. Give it a try.”

A blue 2x2 began to descend, the ancient Game Boy she had managed to dig out beeping sporadically. Vegeta hesitated, before his finger settled on the down button. The piece fell into place, the game system emitting a little chirp. Block after block followed, Vegeta quickly picking up on the controls as he placed each piece.

Finally, he heard a triumphant whir and the finished row popped off the screen. He glanced up at Bulma. “What strategy comes next?”

“Uh, well that’s pretty much it. You’ve got all the mechanics down, now you just keep clearing rows.”

The look he gave could have withered an entire garden. “...So, this game is just endless brain-dead stacking of colored cells?” 

“You know what? Maybe this wasn’t the best video game to introduce you to first.”

* * *

“Why am I a small, dumpy man with a mustache? I would never have a mustache like that.”

A water bottle beaned him directly in the head, and he looked over his shoulder to lock glares with the woman. “Don’t you  _ dare _ insult Super Mario. I can take you insulting Tetris, but Mario is  _ untouchable.” _

Vegeta turned back to the screen, still muttering under his breath. “I enjoy the story, but playing the game is nonsensical. How could a walking mushroom possibly defeat me with one hit? It’s a  _ vegetable.” _

“Yeah, yeah. We already know your opinion on all foods that aren’t meat. But frankly, sometimes I think you’re practically a vegetable yourself.”

“Tch. Clearly not. And I don’t like the mentions of this Waluigi… especially his purple, white, and yellow color scheme.” He shuddered. “But I do respect Bowser. This Daimao is far more intimidating than that slug you pretend is housebroken.”

* * *

“All right, so, next game we’re trying. It’s called Kingdom Hearts, and it’s a mash-up of Disney and Final Fantasy characters—”

“Disney? Isn’t that the name of those ridiculous singing movies you watch?”

“Yes, and Final Fantasy is this great series of action games with plots about rebellions and ethics and great science fiction elements and there’s really no reason that the two should work together but somehow they do, despite the super cheesy dialogue.”

Sora appeared on-screen and Vegeta’s eyes narrowed, spotting the protagonist’s spiky hair. “And you thought I would like the cartoon versions of your imbecile Z fighter friends,  _ why, _ exactly?”

“It’s a great game, don’t knock it! It’s all about defeating the darkness in hearts with love and… friendship and...” Vegeta’s narrowed eyes landed on her at the same time that she realized video games about the power of friendship _ might _ not be Vegeta’s cup of tea. “...Ehhhh... I actually have something else you can try.”

* * *

Now with a Nintendo Switch in hand, childlike wonder lit Vegeta’s eyes as Link paraglided around the seemingly endless Breath of the Wild map, finding new enemies and adventures around every corner. Fast-traveling to the edge of the map, he jumped off a cliff, headed for a shrine on an island in the distance. The corner of his mouth quirked up, “I feel just like I did in my planet purging days! Traveling wherever I wanted—well, wherever Frieza told me to go—fighting the inhabitants there...” He touched down on the island, landing directly in an enemy’s camp. “But the one thing I object to…” He swung the dragonbone club, cutting down a Bokoblin and watching it dissolve into ash before his eyes. “Is the waste of meat. Everyone knows that after you defeat your enemy you are supposed to consume them, not the apples or whatever pathetic fruit you raid from their camp.” He sighed wistfully, “And it looked so meaty, too.”

Bulma hesitated. Did she really want to know? “...So if you defeated Goku—”

“Yes, I would absolutely eat him. I can’t believe you would think to ask such an inane question.”

He continued that way for some time, before finally stumbling into Prince Sidon and embarking on his quest. “Cutting down your enemies is by far the most pleasurable aspect of this game, and I have no qualms with it. But another thing I do take issue with, is this shark-man. I have met many fish-people before on my travels across the galaxy, and I assure you they are not this attractive.” He paused. “Quite tasty though.”

“VEGETA.”

* * *

“Okay I got the message loud and clear, your favorite part of Breath of the Wild was the murder part.”

Vegeta smirked. “I’m glad you’re finally learning. It took you long enough to get that through your thick skull.”

“...I have no idea why I put up with you. Look, this is GTA V, have fun. I’ll come back in a few hours.”

Six hours later, Bulma came back to the living room to find Vegeta’s gaze unwavering from the television as he crashed head-on into a police car, before immediately tearing a bystander from their car and speeding away from the rapidly approaching sound of sirens. Well, he said he liked the murder parts best, she shouldn’t be surprised. But still… “Where are you in the story so far?”

“What the hell are you talking about? All I’ve done is run people over and stab them.”

“You’ve been playing for six hours, and all you’ve done is murder people? Okay that’s it, you’ve had enough.” Frowning, she yanked the plug from the wall, ignoring his angry cursing. “Lesson learned: no Skyrim, no Red Dead Redemption, no open worlds of any kind because all you’ll do is find ways to murder people.”

“You’re TAKING IT AWAY?” His fists clenched dangerously, energy beginning to crackle and surge up his arms, the controller melting in his hands.

“God, who knew video games could make you ever more violent than you already are? You’re like every suburban Facebook watch group’s worst nightmare.” She paused for a moment, then muttered, “And yet, somehow still every housewife’s wet dream…” Pulling the congealed remains of the controller from his hands, he snarled at her as she stepped past him to the trash. “Cool your jets, hotshot. I have another game for you to play instead.” She tossed him a phone, and he glanced down at the screen. “You take turns tossing the ping-pong balls into the cups, and whoever clears all of their opponent's first wins.”

“And why would I ever play such an inane game?”

“Well now you can  _ try _ to beat me, a real opponent, rather than a computer.”

His eyes lit up, a smirk crossing his face. “I’ll crush you in a second.”

Come dinner time, Panchy peeked over Bulma’s shoulder as she played, watching her launch the ball just a hair too wide. “Oh, I thought you were very good at that game?”

“I am, which is why I can put up enough of a challenge and then “lose” at the very end to keep his attention occupied. I’d have him play some other kind of multiplayer games, but most other ones where you actually compete against an opponent have messaging or voice chat, and I’m not sure if the world would survive Vegeta interacting with teenage trolls. And at the end of the day, this can hopefully redirect some of his frustration and help him overcome his plateau.” Hmm. With all this thinking about video games she had done, maybe she had another way to improve his training…

* * *

From her security system, Bulma was able to watch her newly upgraded bots encouraging Vegeta the best way she knew how. 

Her brand-spanking new bot swirled around the edge of the gravity room, promising him cake at every turn. “Panchy made you a black forest gateau. Reach 250G and you can have it now.”

Vegeta slammed his hand on the control panel, steadily increasing the gravity until he reached the 250G he needed, higher than he had ever gone before. After staggering a little, he straightened, glowering at the bot.

“Well done! Be advised the next test requires you to complete 200 push-ups in the 250G environment.”

He growled, but dropped to the floor. A few minutes later he stood back up, panting considerably harder. “I’ve done it, now where’s the cake?”

Lasers sprung from the side of the bot, trained on his face.

“I’m going to kill you, and all the cake is gone.”

A vein pulsed in his head. “What do you MEAN the cake is ALL GONE?”

And with that the bot’s fate was sealed, Bulma thought gleefully, as she watched Vegeta leap at it in a fit of rage, the lasers deflecting harmlessly off his skin.

“WAS THE CAKE A LIE?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes that IS papyrus font don’t @ me
> 
> Fun fact: learned while trolling Wikipedia that Bowser was originally supposed to be based on the Ox-King from Alakazam the Great, which you guessed it… is based on the same Ox-King character from Journey to the West that our beloved Ox-King is inspired by <3 AND Bowser is sometimes called Daimao… just like Piccolo Sr. Who knew Bowser had so many connections to Dragon Ball???
> 
> We’re starting to get near the end… only two chapters left 😭


	9. Deep-Throating Wieners for Cash

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes I was just in New York by Coney Island and no that did not have any effect on the choice of chapter topic
> 
> Many thanks to the inappropriately punny [Rogue_1102](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rogue_1102/pseuds/rogue_1102) for the chapter title, and to the rest of the VBO Discord for their similarly wonderful inappropriate suggestions.

Shrill beeping shattered the silence of Bulma’s bedroom, her hand wearily searching for the snooze button. Groaning, she collapsed back onto the bed and struggled to keep her eyes open until they landed on the calendar across the room, today’s date circled in bright blue Sharpie. 

Ah, July 4th, at last. What a wonderful day to blow Vegeta’s mind.

The man in question chose that moment to roll over, forehead creasing slightly before his face smoothed out. He was so cute when he was sleeping. You almost couldn’t tell that he had murdered millions (billions maybe?—unclear) of beings.

Unfortunately for his peaceful slumber, Bulma had already perfected the art of waking the sleeping dragon, although she was sure her supercharged Taser was probably no more than a tickle to him.

When the metal connected with his chest, he jolted awake, hair standing on end even more than usual. Fists raised in a battle stance in front of him, crackling with ki, until his eyes landed on Bulma. He groaned and fell back onto the bed, “I gave you two orgasms last night, you can’t possibly want more already.”

“Rise and shine, princess!” A stray pillow clocked Vegeta in the head. “We’ve got a big day ahead of us, so we’ve got to get moving now!”

“Fuck you.” He hurled the pillow back, missing Bulma entirely but knocking a lamp off the dresser along the way.

“Hey! I’ve had that lamp for years, asshole. Now get up, you can sleep on the plane. Unless you want me to use  _ this _ ,” she waved the reloaded Taser, “on you again.” He growled in response but got to his feet, and began his search to find out wherever Bulma had thrown his pants last night.

* * *

They had just reached the airfield when Vegeta suddenly stopped, all traces of sleep gone from his face. He rounded on Bulma, teeth clenched. “You didn’t. Not this early in the morning.”

“Yo Vegeta!”

A vein pulsed in Vegeta’s forehead. “You didn’t tell me  _ he _ was coming.”

Bulma shrugged. “If I had told you we were about to spend the day in close contact with Goku without fighting, you would have run away before we had even gotten here.” She grabbed his sleeve, pulling him towards the plane. “Now, it’s too late.”

A few minutes later, they were in the airplane and on their way. Goku popped his head over Bulma’s shoulder. “I have a question! I know you said to show up here this morning, but what are we doing?”

“Surprise vacation! It’s July 4th, so we’re going to America.”

“Oh cool! I have another question. Why are we always going to America?”

Bulma tilted her head, considering. “Probably because the writer is from America and therefore is deeply familiar with all the dumb shit they do?”

Goku settled back in his seat, “Oh! That’s a good point.” A few seconds later he leaned forward again, “I have another question! How long are—”

“IF YOU DON’T SHUT YOUR MOUTH RIGHT NOW I’LL SHUT IT FOR YOU.” Vegeta shouted.

Bulma glared at him. “Vegeta. It is very impolite to treat our guests that way.” She  _ was _ Panchy’s daughter after all.

* * *

“We’ve got a couple of hours to kill before noon, so I thought we’d do a whirlwind tour of all things America since it’s the fourth of July,” Bulma said as she led them to their seats. “First things first, an inning of baseball.”

“Isn’t this the sports game that the weakling plays?” Vegeta surveyed the baseball diamond with disgust.

“Yeah, but this is the Brooklyn Cyclones so it’s a different minor league team.” She pretended not to notice Vegeta’s snort at the word ‘minor’. “Ooh look! Concessions!”

The vendor walked towards their group, his tray laden with cotton candy and peanuts and other ball game goodies. She could practically hear the two Saiyans salivating next to her, and Vegeta began to reach for the snacks. 

Bulma smacked his hand away from the seller, “No food for you.” She turned to Goku, throwing him a winning smile, “But you eat however much you want, Goku.”

Vegeta’s jaw dropped open in shock. “What?!” Money changed hands and suddenly Goku’s arms were laden with junk food, with him inhaling it fast enough for a regular human to choke. “Woman, I’m starving. You woke me up at an ungodly hour this morning, forced me into an enclosed space with Kakarot’s inane question, and now you expect me to sit here on an empty stomach?”

“I saw you eat a whole tray of sandwiches before we left. You’ll be fine.” A little golden form scampered out onto the field, and Bulma gasped, “Look! The bat dog!”

The player had just bunted, dropping the bat as he dashed for first. While he ran away from home, a jersey-wearing golden retriever ran to the plate to pick up the bat and drag it off to the dugout, tail wagging the whole ways. Bulma cooed, “Isn’t she just precious? And the brochure says she’s up for adoption from the shelter she was at too.”

“Shelter? What do you mean?” Goku asked as they watched the dog grab the next bat and proudly dash off the field. 

Oh no… this was going to crush someone as kind as Goku. Bulma tried to phrase it as delicately as possible, “Sometimes people decide they can’t or won’t take care of an animal anymore, and so they give it up to a shelter so the dog can find a new home. But shelters have a difficult time adopting out their animals sometimes, so they have adoption events or do stunts like this to raise awareness about animals that need homes.”

Goku looked aghast. “Someone just gave this dog up? She doesn’t have a family anymore?” Bulma nodded, and Goku pursed his lips, gaze focused on the dog on the field below.

Bulma’s wrist beeped. “All right, time’s up. Onto our next stop.” She stood up, scanning the seats to her other side. “Wait? Where’s Vegeta?” Towards the top of the stands, she spied him arguing with a hot dog vendor, and started to march up to where he stood. “Vegeta! Stop it!” 

Goku tugged on her sleeve, holding her back. “Actually, I wanna stay behind for a little bit. I’m still kinda hungry so I’m gonna get some more snacks. I’ll just instant transmit to you guys once I’m done!”

“Sure, sure. Get whatever you want.” She tossed him a handful of bills and continued on her path to her errant boyfriend. 

* * *

“This is Luna Park, it’s an amusement park with dangerous thrill rides and stuff like that.”

“Hn. I thought humans were weak and avoided danger.”

“Welllllllll, I mean you’re strapped in so you’re not actually in any danger—”

Vegeta scoffed. “Even your adrenaline junkies are weak on this planet. Do you humans never do anything dangerous at all?”

Bulma stomped her foot. “Of course we do! See that red tower over there? People used to jump and parachute off it.”

Squinting, Vegeta looked at the towering structure, “I see nobody jumping off of it.”

“...They may have shut it down a couple of decades ago and not reopened it because they’re scared someone might get hurt.”

“Feh. Humans can die from a fall from that meager height? Pathetic.”

With a pop, Goku appeared in front of them. “Hey guys! I’m back!”

The heiress grinned at her friend, then looked down at his hands to where he was holding… a leash? Bulma’s eyes nearly popped out of her head and she moaned, “No, Goku, you didn’t.”

“I’m gonna name her Piccola!” Goku proudly announced, leaning down to pet the golden retriever on the head, still sporting her Brooklyn Cyclones jersey.

Bulma moaned again. “Chi-Chi’s going to kill me. No, I take that back, Piccolo is going to kill me. No—they’re both going to kill me,  _ together _ .”

Goku looked hurt. “Of course Chi-Chi won’t. Piccola needed a home and a family and good food, and Chi-Chi loves all those things.”

It seemed there was no changing his mind. She’d just have to deal with the consequences later, but for now… where had Vegeta gone again?

There he was—in front of the funnel cake stand. Of course. Could he never listen to her for once? “Vegeta! It’s almost noon, we have to _ go _ ,” and promptly seized him by the arm to begin dragging him away. 

“I’m HUNGRY, woman,” he snarled.

“Just trust me. You’ll thank me later.”

Goku and Piccola trotted after them. “So where are we going, Bulma?”

“Here.” The trio stopped in front of a large banner announcing Nathan’s Hot Dog Eating Contest. “And I already warned them you were coming and donated a  _ ton _ of extra hot dogs, despite their insistence they had plenty.” She grimaced. “They don’t know what’s about to hit them.”

Goku gasped. “You’re the best Bulma!” he called, running up the platform with Piccola hot on his heels. 

Vegeta stood rooted to the spot, staring at the banner blankly. “...What is this.”

“It’s a hot dog eating contest. Whoever eats the most hot dogs in ten minutes is declared the winner for the year, and more than a million people watch the contest.”

He looked stunned, “Humans have competitions to see who can eat the most food?” Bulma nodded. “These American sports just keep getting better and better.”

“You see that guy over there?” His eyes followed where she had pointed, towards a tall brown-haired man. “That’s Joey Chestnut. He’s won this contest eleven times.” Bulma sighed. “And I bet you that Goku thinks he could just snatch that title from him without any effort.”

“Tch. I assure you that  _ I  _ will win this competition, and not that clown.” The stairs creaked under his steps as he headed upwards. 

“Wait, wait, wait!” Her arm shot in front of his path, blocking his way. “Hear me out—dunk the buns in water, and you’ll be able to swallow them faster and eat more dogs.”

“Are you insane, woman? I have no need for such foolish tactics.” He pushed past her, making his way to center stage.

* * *

_ 5, 4, 3, 2, 1!  _ At the sound of the airhorn, the contestants began to tear into their hotdogs, swallowing as quickly as humanly possible. One by one, the other contestants began to slow in disbelief as they stared at their Saiyan counterparts, who were easily eating five hot dogs in the time it took a human to eat one.

One minute in, and Vegeta and Goku were both at 51 hot dogs. Shoveling more and more hot dogs into his mouth, Vegeta frantically tried to keep pace with Goku… but he was finding it harder and harder to swallow as time passed, the dry buns sticking in his throat. 

Two minutes in. How did Goku get five hot dogs ahead? Even with all the food he had eaten at the baseball stadium, he was somehow still winning.

Vegeta locked eyes with Bulma, standing at the front of the crowd, cheering him on. He continued shoveling food into his mouth, his gaze drifting down to the supply of hot dogs he was demolishing at a pace the referees could hardly keep up with. And next to it, a large cup of water. 

His eyes met Bulma’s again, just as he dunked a hot dog in the water, before stuffing it into his mouth.

His face morphed into one of pure disgust, but he was able to swallow the hot dog immediately. Frieza’s tits, the soggy bun fell to pieces in his hand and it tasted like wet cardboard. And yet… as he continued to dunk bun after bun he could stuff two, then three into his mouth at the same time, soaring past Goku in the standings as his hot dog count grew higher and higher.

The airhorn blew again. “It’s unbelievable, I’ve never seen anything like it!” The announcer called over the cheers of the crowd. “We have a winner… Vegeta Prince, with a world-record breaking 420 hot dogs! In second, Goku Son with 271, and in third, Joey Chestnut with 69!”

His stomach felt like it was going to burst but his grin spread from ear to ear. He had beat Kakarot into the dust, and he was never going to let him forget it.

A strong hand clapped him on the shoulder, and he turned to see Bulma and Goku grinning down at him. “Wow Vegeta! Congrats.” Goku clapped his own stomach, laughing in delight. “I don’t think I’ve ever eaten that much, and you still ate more than me! What’s your secret?”

In the heat of the summer sun, the hot dog water had warmed to near burning temperatures. Vegeta handed the cup to his fellow Saiyan without a word.

Goku guzzled the drink, “So watery. And yet there’s a smack of ham to it. What is it?”

Vegeta smirked. “Hot ham water.”

Bulma punched him in the shoulder, rolling her eyes. “I see no thanks for me. Just promise me you won’t tell Panchy how much you ate, or else she’ll start making hundreds of hot dogs every day.”

* * *

At last, their day had come to an end with their last American activity of the evening. The trio lounged on the end of the pier, Bulma’s legs swinging back and forth over the edge as they waited for the show. 

“I don’t understand why we could not have returned to West City after the contest,” Vegeta complained, clutching his victory belt more tightly. 

“Quit being such a stick in the mud, Vegeta. The fireworks are about to start in a few minutes, and then we’ll head home afterwards, mmkay?”

He scoffed, but shut up. Moments later, the sky was lit with dazzling explosions in all colors. A speck of hot ash landed next to Bulma, causing her to yelp in surprise.

Vegeta shot into the sky, fists crackling with energy. “HA! You humans and your paltry ki attacks are pathetic, but I will make you pay for this attack on my mate!”

“Shit, shit, shit, Goku  _ help!” _ Bulma yelled, but she needn’t have bothered. Her best friend was already taking to the air with her wrapped in one arm, before his other seized the back of Vegeta’s armor and transmitted them far away from the excitement of the day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the penultimate chapter! I’m so appreciative of everyone who’s stuck around for so long or is just finding this now, and I’ll see you on the flipside, chapter 10 :)
> 
> I’m a vegetarian but I LOVEEEEE entering food eating competitions, and have come second place in a local hot dog eating contest two years in a row… luv me a good veggie dog. And speaking of dogs as far as I know the Brooklyn Cyclones don’t have a bat dog but they SHOULD.
> 
> Also enjoy this stupid pacman edit I made


	10. Two Cocks, One Sandwich

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First things first, Pop Culture won **1st Place at the TPTH Awards for Humor!!!** Thank you THANK YOU to everyone who showed up and voted, I can’t tell you how much it meant to me.
> 
> I’m ending Pop Culture six months to the day from when I first began publishing this work, and I can’t be more grateful to have had all of you on this journey with me on this testament to my _very_ specific list of pop culture interests.

It is a truth universally acknowledged, that the way to a Saiyan’s heart is through food. 

Panchy had exploited that truth many times, and many ways, worming her way into Vegeta’s two sizes too small heart long, long ago. And she continued to exploit that weakness any time she could. 

“I brought you chocolates!” she chirped as she passed through the doors of her daughter’s lab, either completely oblivious or pointedly ignoring the frantic shuffling of clothing coming from her daughter and future son-in-law _ (she hoped!) _ when they sprung apart. She spun the tray around, pointing out the white chocolate, and the dark, and the milk-chocolate covered strawberries that she knew her daughter just  _ adored, _ and oh there was fondue too—

The tray was snatched from her hands before Bulma marched her directly out of the room, collapsing against the door as it closed behind her mother. “Kami, that one was  _ close, _ Vegeta. She’s almost walked in on us so many times that I’m starting to suspect she’s trying to pull some kind of Momager-released Kim K sex tape shit or something.” She paused, “I mean,  _ obviously  _ any sex tape of mine would be a huge hit, but is Capsule Corp suffering enough for us to need to consider something like that?”

Vegeta shrugged. “I do not pretend to understand the workings of your brain, or your errant mother’s.” He finished straightening his bodysuit, and snapped his gloves on either hand with the vigor of a doctor preparing for a rectal exam. “I’m returning to my training in the gravity room. I will see you later this evening.”

Bulma grumbled as she returned to her work, surrounded by the remnants of both experiments and old video game systems that had been broken during their impromptu romp—and interruption.

* * *

The next evening found Bulma on the couch watching Looney Tunes, having bullied Vegeta into joining her with the promise of copious amounts of popcorn. And sensing a growing young man that might need to be fed, her mother appeared soon after, carrying a gooey bowl. 

“I brought you ambrosia, and it’s the very first time I’ve made it!” she breezed before setting the bowl down and flouncing out of the room, their attention broken from Elmer Fudd’s repeated attempts to catch that dang wabbit. 

“What is it?” Vegeta asked, scrutinizing the mass.

Bulma stirred it hesitantly with a spoon, “I think it’s pineapples and mandarin oranges and mini-marshmallows with some kind of cream, but I’ve never actually seen it before—I thought it was just one of those things like olive Jell-O that you see in textbooks to frighten you about 50’s cooking.”

Picking up his own spoon, Vegeta scooped some into his mouth, before placing the whole bowl on his lap and continuing to eat. “It is acceptable. Though your mother has had some odd food choices of late. Earlier today she was offering me some kind of sea creature called an oyster, and kept discussing how she hoped that I’d ‘be able to find your pearl’ or some other such nonsense.”

Chocolate, oysters, ambrosia… the gears in Bulma’s brain went into hyperdrive as her neurons careened towards one conclusion, the  _ only  _ conclusion. She groaned. Loud. 

Panchy stuck her head back around the corner, “Yes, dear?”

She couldn’t have. She wouldn’t have. Oh, but she  _ would, _ wouldn’t she? “Mom, you haven’t been trying to feed us aphrodisiacs, have you?”

Her mother smiled brightly back in the face of her  _ clear  _ aggravation, “Well of course, dear! Vegeta moved in with us over a year ago, and I haven’t gotten a grandbaby yet!” Bulma’s eyes nearly popped out of her head, sure that of all the terrible things her mother had ever said this was the  _ worst _ , but then she continued, “And, well, he spends so much time watching that wrestling business and you spend all your time looking up theories about that movie, the bride of skytracker or something—”

“Is Star Wars a joke to you?” Bulma muttered mutinously.

“—And then I wasn’t sure if maybe Vegeta couldn’t, well, ‘get it up’—”

“I DON’T NEED CIALIS,” Vegeta choked around his spoonful of ambrosia.

“—So then I asked Roshi for advice and he recommended something called girly mags and so I bought a few of those that I was going to try if the ambrosia didn’t work—”

“MOM.” Bulma interrupted, “That’s not even the right kind of ambrosia. When people talk about ambrosia being an aphrodisiac, they’re talking about the ‘Nectar of the Greek Gods’ stuff, NOT diced fruit with MINI MARSHMALLOWS.”

Panchy looked completely unperturbed, “I didn’t know that dear! If you tell me where I can find that, and I can go out and get that for you instead.”

“The only thing I want you to get, is to get  _ out.” _ For the second time in as many days, Bulma marched her mother to the door, slamming it behind her. 

“Are these Greek Gods different from that undead god that I am supposed to ‘leave room for’?”

Trust Vegeta to fixate on something irrelevant, when there were _ suitcases  _ full of stuff to unpack from that conversation with her mother. 

Bulma sighed, “Yes, they’re different from Jesus. These ones would bone, like, anything that walked. Supposedly, their food, ambrosia, is an aphrodisiac.”

Vegeta snorted. “You humans have such odd practices concerning food. Chestnut is the only human I have seen with even vaguely Saiyan eating habits, and even his seem restricted to primarily hot dogs.” He tilted his head, seemingly contemplating. “Although I have seen some other bizarre eating competitions on the YouTube application. There are some humans that consume deodorant, can you believe that?”

“What, that people eat deodorant?” He nodded. “Look Vegeta, it’s fucking weird, but I assure you that humans have done weirder shit for likes on YouTube. I mean, Will It Blend was a classic, but not all YouTube channels can match that level of infomercial majesty. If eating weird stuff gets them attention, then so be it.”

“No, the aspect I found strange was not that they eat it, but that humans try to cover their natural scent with this deodorant in the first place.”

Bulma rolled her eyes, “Look, I get you love the Minnesota Vikings, but not all of us want to smell like their locker room.”

“Tch.” Another spoonful of the ambrosia made its way to his mouth, evidently not caring about whatever Panchy thought it might do to his dick. “There are still many strange Earth foods I would like to try eating. For example, the Double Down.”

“Uh… and what exactly is that?”

He shot her a withering look. “You know what that is. Kakarot thinks he invented it, he called it a ‘double baconwich’, but the Double Down was around for years before that. It’s a classic part of American culture.”

That… wasn’t ringing any bells. Bulma fell quiet, racking her brain frantically to figure out what on earth Vegeta was talking about. Where would he have learned that anyway? She had taught him everything that he knew about pop culture!

At the sight of her blank expression, something clicked in his head and he smirked, eyes lighting up at his discovery, “I know something about earthling culture that you don’t. The insufferable know-it-all doesn’t know something.”

“Of course I know what a Double Down is!” she snapped. This was a challenge that made her blood pound in a way the ambrosia salad decidedly had not. “It just took me a minute to remember.”

His smirk only grew larger, “Then what is it, woman?”

“Basically a double baconwich,” she retorted. 

“Evasive maneuvers, a classic tactic. But you didn’t answer the question.  _ What is a Double Down?” _

She hesitated. She _really_ should have thought this out more. Vegeta was a shark when he smelled blood in the water, but she couldn’t just let him _win._ Double… bacon… wich… and it was American... “It’s a sandwich with double the bacon,” she said, sounding far more confident than she felt.

He doubled over, howling with laughter. She growled, hurling a shoe at his head in response. It bounced right off, and not for the first time she cursed her boyfriend’s stupidly thick skull. He wiped the tears from his eyes, still chuckling every few seconds. “No, and that’s not even what Kakarot’s double baconwich is. The Double Down,” he paused, gesturing and pontificating as if he was revealing some deep truth to her, “is an American culinary masterpiece made by the great Colonel Sanders of Kentucky Fried Chicken. It’s a bacon and cheese sandwich, with the bread replaced by two pieces of fried chicken.” He smacked his lips, “Delicious.”

“Don’t get too full of yourself, hot shot,” she shot back. 

“I have ascended; I am the cultural master now, and you are the student. You have nothing more to teach me.”

“Oh please,” she scoffed, smacking his shoulder, “Saying “Daddy” in bed is still one of the kinkiest things we’ve done, and you only learned that a few months ago.”

He rose to his feet, each step measured as he leaned down towards her, framing her with his hands as he loomed above. “So, you think  _ you  _ still have things to teach  _ me?”  _ His voice dropped a few pitches, each word setting her skin ablaze. 

She shoved his chest, wiggling out from beneath him and snatching his hand, making a direct beeline for the stairs. “Oh, I can _ always  _ teach you something new,” she muttered as she dragged him towards the bedroom.

The forgotten ambrosia salad stayed in front of the flickering TV, it’s job complete in a very,  _ very _ roundabout way. 

The TV flickered again, Bugs Bunny reappearing as he announced:

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for sticking around. Every comment truly, truly made my day and inspired me ot continue when I opened my inbox. All the support for this dumb little idea meant more to me than I can put into words and I was absolutely blown away that anybody actually liked the first thing I’d written in more than half a decade. 
> 
> For now, Pop Culture is coming to a close. The plan has always been to have ten chapters and end on Vegeta teaching Bulma something about pop culture, and I stuck to stopping it at ten because I’m trying to dedicate more time to a long!fic that I’ve been writing since before I started publishing Pop Culture. It’s about 30k words so far, and it’s a Captain Marvel/Iron Man inspired take on a powered Bulma, starting from DBZ with the intention of being an ensemble piece, as other characters are capable of being helpful besides Goku and Vegeta. With more time to write that, hopefully I’ll be publishing before not too long. 
> 
> That being said, there’s more Pop Culture to come! It’ll likely be more in the format of oneshots or short, 2-3 chapter sequels than a longer piece. I already have a 3 chapter sequel mostly written from another prompt event and these will be published as I go and am inspired. So, there’s more crack on the way, I’m sure, and in the meantime if you’re interested, I’ve also got an ongoing exorcism/demon hunting!fic that has a few more chapters.
> 
> And on a final, completely unrelated note… the ambrosia incident was inspired by something that actually happened to an old coworker, where a temp employee repeatedly made him ambrosia because she thought it was an aphrodisiac and wanted him to fall in love with her (and admitted as much!) so, yup. Someone actually thought a pineapple and mini-marshmallow salad was going to win his heart. 
> 
> Again, thank you so much for everything, and everyone, I hope you all have a Happy New Year!


End file.
